


Monster

by il_mio_capitano



Series: Monster [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, Flashbacks, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 07:10:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5447744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/il_mio_capitano/pseuds/il_mio_capitano
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after Chosen. Giles has disappeared from the group and could be a threat. Buffy isn't sure how much she wants to deal with that problem when they meet up unexpectedly in Europe, but are there are other supernatural forces at play?</p>
<p>This is plotty fic focussing on Giles and Buffy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

To say the stranger bothered them would be an understatement. His very presence alarmed the other passengers and now his behaviour was beginning to cause serious concern.

The evening bus from Riga was usually unexceptional in its passenger list. It was part of the same battered fleet of transport left behind in Eastern Europe after the breakaway from the Soviet Union. It was unremarkable yet functional; carrying workers to the Latvian capital in the morning and returning them to their families at night. The passengers were old friends who would nod and chat as old friends are wont to do. The men worked in the factories whilst the women had a variety of jobs that no-one questioned. There was a happiness and camaraderie to the pattern of their working day. They had seen politics come and go; the only certainty was family and friends. Nobody new ever needed to travel on that particular bus.

But tonight as they had joked aboard for the last ride home before Christmas there was an outsider wanting to travel and they had observed their customary silence for all strangers. It was a habit formed before the Independence and it was not a custom they broke lightly. For his part, the stranger superficially showed no interest in them. He was a tall, middle-aged man in dark framed glasses. His hair was dark though a little grey in some places and a little thin in others. He carried a brown holdall and displayed the cautionary air of a professional journey maker. His leather jacket and jeans were western, but that meant nothing in this day and age. He’d spoken Russian to the driver and his reading matter, from what they could see, was also Russian - a trashy novel whose cover depicted a bikini clad girl and some hero of the Soviet Union fondling an oversized gun. No patriotic Latvian was going to make small talk with such a man, so the passengers had sat with icy wariness whilst the Russian had quietly read his book. He had observed them all though, they’d had enough practice over the years with secret police to recognise that.

So when he’d put the book down and nodded off to sleep they’d relaxed somewhat and quietly started to whisper their feast plans for Christmas. Indeed they might have forgotten him completely had it not been for the nightmares. At first it was just some twitching and mumbling – they couldn’t make out any words – but then he was sweating and jerking and they were torn between common decency and preserving their distance from a man they had elevated to ex-KGB in their minds. In the end it was Madam Mamina who had stood up compassionately and slapped the man across the face. She was taking a second swing when he caught her arm forcefully and opened his eyes. He assessed the threat and released his pressure immediately.

“You were dreaming,” she said in Russian for his benefit. To which he nodded, rather sadly. He took off his glasses and pinched his nose. “My son was conscripted into the soviet army in Afghanistan,” she continued, “he dreams too.” The stranger merely shrugged and avoided her eyes. “You have seen conflict I think? You should be with your family at Christmas I think?” He replaced his glasses and rudely picked up his book to ignore her. Madame Mamina returned to her seat with a knowing nod to her compatriots. She understood him a little better than he realised. She understood that there are some people you just can’t help.

When the bus pulled into the last town on its route, the final passengers withdrew. They exchanged cheery messages of goodwill. It would be three days before they would meet again and return to commuting and working habits. Everything in the town was shutting down in preparation for Christmas. There had not been snow so far that year but the cold was palpable. Icy breaths hung on the air reluctant to leave the warm of their host.

The tall stranger also alighted and looked about him. The others had already hurried away; if he was looking for someone they were not going to point any fingers for him. Even the bus driver slammed the doors closed, killed his internal lights and swept away. He wanted no part of trouble this close to spending time with his family. The town was barely a few streets with only two outlets of commerce, a shop and some sort of newsagent cum café. Rupert Giles gripped his bag and proceeded to the latter.

...  
  
  
Something wasn’t right and Buffy Summers knew it. She walked with a casual indifference around the dimly lit back streets. On the face of it she was no threat and she knew from experience that demons and danger seemed naturally drawn to her. She stopped by some garbage bins and tried to focus her energies: it wasn’t a vampire but there was definitively something up to no good in this town. She walked on in what she hoped was her best bait-looking manner. Something would have to jump out soon. She was not imagining it. She never imagined it. Xander had once said ‘nobody stops the world on Buffy’s watch’ and she took that motto to heart. She moved swiftly to what passed for the main street. A bus had pulled in and had already discharged its passengers. The driver had switched off his lights and was pulling away, his shift finished. There was nothing. No demon. No big bad evil. Buffy hated it when the bad guy got away. She retraced her steps and shook her head to herself. Something still wasn’t right but there wasn’t much else she could do. Reluctantly, she tucked her stake back in her purse.

It was just a day before Christmas and here she was, half a world away from Dawn, chasing rats in a town whose name she couldn’t even pronounce. Since the destruction of Sunnydale that scenario had become her daily deal. There were hundreds of Slayers all around the globe, but when trouble brewed, as trouble would, Buffy liked to be there in person. Since the demise of Sunnydale there had been a full program of works. Robin Wood had managed to win over what was left of the old watcher network with his promise of a new start. The new slayers accepted him as their leader immediately, something about his natural authority as a Principal, although having a Slayer Mom proved to be a hell of a trump card too. Xander, Faith and Willow had carved out areas of expertise for themselves and even Andrew was a useful member of the team. It had been a hard six months of change and responsibility, but everyone found a place and peace.

Buffy had appointed herself to the role of chief trouble shooter. Robin may have had reservations of the need for such a post but she’d argued she had valuable field experience and that it honestly wasn’t because she hated the idea of having to sit behind a desk and organise anything. She’d been the Slayer for seven years on the Hellmouth, not counting three months off for dead behaviour, and the only way she felt she could be responsible for other people’s lives was if she standing shoulder to shoulder with them, preferably swinging something sharp and heavy. It was who she was and what she did, so when the new Council got word of a sect in Latvia, breeding demon doggies and trying to create a new hell portal, Buffy packed her passport, some kickass fur boots and headed off. Robin had tried to convince her that the local girl could handle it, but it was a high stakes roll for Buffy and she was on it.

“It’s apocalypse stuff,” she’d argued, “We’d all look pretty silly if there was no New Year this year…. next year?” Robin had blinked but finally agreed. Besides it was getting close to Christmas and she dreaded the holidays. All her memories were of her Mom. It hurt too much if she stopped running. Dawn evidently had the same idea because she’d arranged to go snowboarding with some school friends.

Robin, ever the Principal,  had given her a thorough briefing on the country including some maps and a crash course in local customs which she conceded was useful. She’d learnt it was one of the Baltic States that had acceded away from the Soviet Union as soon as it could, though that was the tip of a long and rather bitter history with neighbours Russia. They had been occupied before and a lot of wealth seemed to have remained with some of the older families. So much for the Fodor facts. Evil was universal as far as Buffy was concerned. Geo-politics were best left to the er, geo-politicians.

Meeting the local Slayer had been more interesting. There had been some initial resentment if not downright disagreement over her methods. Zara seemed to think Buffy was some sort of Watcher sent to hit the books and carry her weapons. She didn’t even own anything tweed! But that misunderstanding resolved, they had fought side by side until the threat was averted, the cult quashed and the demon dogs were chop liver. Zara and her family had asked her to stay for Christmas but Buffy was charm and politeness personified and had refused.

She’d got as far as the airport at Riga when she realised she didn’t particularly want to go home right away. Zara’s family had been warm and welcoming. Buffy thought of her mom and her dad and of all the Christmases she’d shared with them and Dawn. It broke her heart to think of it. Dawn was snowboarding (though the phrase Bambi on ice came most readily to Buffy’s mind), and though she had promised to join her sister, at the airport she held back on buying the ticket. She thought about getting a hire car instead and just travelling somewhere. She suddenly felt small and lonely in the bustling airport. She wanted to escape. Trying to get a hire car at Riga airport the week before Christmas turned out to be harder than closing a Hellmouth, so it was a relief when _he_ had come to her aid. Paul Popov was tall and handsome, he spoke Latvian and Russian and probably lots of other languages, but most impressively of all, he spoke Money. With charm and downright bribery he got the last available car and offered to share it with Buffy. He was handsome, mid thirties and confident. He was Latvian by birth but liked to travel, he had property to the west of here he said, would she care to spend Christmas with him? She’d said no of course, but she’d laughed a sort of yes and let him her buy coffee.

She wasn’t looking for a heavy commitment, just companionship. Zara had been so grateful to find someone who understood, someone who could help her in this nightmare world of demon fighting. Buffy missed that for herself.  Paul had large brown eyes and the softest eyelashes she’d ever seen. His family he explained had managed to hang on to their money during the soviet years and now he could afford to travel and see the world. He made her laugh in odd ways. If he was a playboy-rapist or a murderer then he hid it very well. He was all charm one minute, then boyish old-fashioned nervousness the next. Fundamentally after three days of art galleries, cold yet brisk walks in parks, shared late suppers yet chastely separate hotel rooms, Buffy had concluded he was just the world’s largest Boy Scout. And not really looking for commitment either.

...  
  
Rupert Giles entered the café warily. The patrons were dotted around small tables, studying the newsprint of betting papers as if winners could be detected by smell alone. A good looking man in his thirties was reading a yellow National Geographic and sipping a small coffee. He spotted the newcomer and called to him cheerfully.

“Dr Jones? It is Dr Jones isn’t it?” The young man’s English was accented with Russian but also with a confidence that came from an expensive education. Giles gave a tired smile and confirmed he was indeed Dr Jones.

“I take it you are Paul Popov?” Introductions made, the men shook hands firmly.

“Thank you so much for coming Dr Jones. I really appreciate all the help you can give me. And thank you for coming at this time of year too.”

Giles smiled, “Well, you wired me $10,000 to come straight away, so I’m always happy to help a client.”

“You won’t be disappointed in the work I assure you. I’ve arranged for you to stay at my house.” Popov held up a hand to stem protests, “I know you wanted separate accommodation, but there are no hotels for 200 miles and the villagers are difficult to billet upon over Christmas.”

“I don’t want to be in your way.”

“That’s alright, you won’t be,” said the younger man, “the house is closed up for most of the year. I’m the last of the family so I travel and do as I please. I’ve not stayed at my house over Christmas before but everything is prepared and I’m sure it will be comfortable. However there will be three of us as I have another guest staying. An American girl so I hope the two will get along. You’ll have your own quarters of course. The house is old but quite spacious.”

The door bell tinkled behind them “Ah and here she is now.” A short blond woman walked brightly to Popov’s side but then stared at the stranger in disbelief and anger.  “My dear, may I introduce Dr Jones who is here to do some research for me. Dr Jones, this is Buffy Summers, my fiancée.”

Giles.

Of all the places for him to turn up. Buffy fought an instinctive urge to punch him to the ground and find some means of dragging him back to America. The second part was impractical with it being Eastern Europe and Christmas time, but the first part was still damn tempting. It had been six months since anyone had heard of him and yet here he was all nom de guerre and looking shifty. The colour had drained from his face which gave her some satisfaction. The stop at the village had been for provisions Paul had said. Picking up lying, murdering ex-watchers had not been mentioned as part of the itinerary.

Buffy folded her arms and tilted her head to one side, “What’s he doing here?”

“I’m sorry,” said Popov who looked a little confused. "Do you two know each other?”

Did she know him? That was a good question. Depends which one he meant. The Giles who’d annoyed her? The Giles who loved her? The Giles she’d loved and risked everything for in order to save his life. The one that repaid that by calmly advocating murdering her sister? Oh, oh, the one that was so shy with Miss Calendar or the one that was so obviously experienced with Olivia?

“No,” said Buffy folding her arms, “No I have no idea who he is.” Giles’ expression remained stoically blank.

“Please let me explain, I’m sorry it was all very last minute. Could you give us a moment Dr Jones?” Giles nodded and drifted off to feign interest in a stack of faded western Sunday supplements. Buffy wondered if he was calculating whether he could make it out of the door without her noticing. Part of her wanted him to try.

“I’m sorry to spring this on you Buffy but I have some papers at the house I need an expert to look over. Now is the only time I could arrange I’m afraid. He comes highly recommended.” Buffy wondered by whom though if he was faking a passport in this part of the world he’d probably written his own recommendations too.

“Fine. I thought it was just going to be us,” she said, “but he can stay. I wouldn’t want anyone to be all alone at Christmas.” Paul rubbed her arm appreciatively. “Not when I can keep an eye on him,” she added to herself.

***

  
Buffy found she didn’t have the courage to go to Intensive Care straight away so she went to Robin’s room first. She was surprised to find him on his feet and dressed, Faith had been round to the hospital earlier with a change of clothes, and it was a huge relief to see him looking so well. Rona had Slayer healing and was well on the way to recovery by the time they’d parked the school bus. Robin may have been a slayer’s son but he still had to do it the hard way.

She hugged him impulsively and Robin seemed to understand because he held her just as tightly. “Faith told me what happened,” he said, “how is she doing?”

“Doctors aren’t really telling us anything. I don’t know. She looks so vulnerable. I can’t believe he’d do a thing like this…”

They walked the corridors slowly. Robin leaned on her for support though she needed the contact just as much as he did and held his waist tightly.

“Any luck with the search parties?” he asked.

“Nothing yet,” she sniffed, “I thought we’d done with all this. I thought with the Hellmouth gone we might get at least five minutes before the next wave of evil came crashing over us. God! I should have seen it coming. He’s been different, Dawn was right. I should have seen it coming.”

“There was no way you could have predicted this. Don’t blame yourself Buffy. I’ve started making some calls to some contacts in the old Council who are still alive, even the Coven.”

“Think they’ll help with this?”

“Maybe, though I was thinking more about finding the new slayers. There are girls out there who have no idea what has happened to them. They need help and support, Watchers if you will. There’s a lot of work to be done.”

They arrived at Willow’s room. Kennedy and Xander had been forced to wait outside whilst the doctors did some tests. There was more hugging.

“Hey. How’s she doing?”

“Doctors say there’s still brain activity so that’s hopeful. Apparently it’s better if she doesn’t wake up just yet.” Poor Xander could barely keep his voice from breaking.

“Caught the monster that did this to her yet?” demanded Kennedy.

***

  
The hire car was in Buffy’s name but Popov drove to his country property. It seemed a complicated route with many rural roads some of which were barely dirt tracks. Buffy sat in front and wondered how she was going to get a message back to Robin and the others.

“Are you OK?” Poor Paul looked concerned. It wasn’t fair. He was an innocent in all this. She looked at him fondly. His clothes were new and perfect. His hair was always immaculate. He was always closely shaved and must spend hours in the shower or have the world’s most discrete deodorant. He came from a clean world and it was just what she needed, a man to open doors, pay bills and not ask anything in return. Damn Giles. She’d finally got herself something nice and uncomplicated and it was all going to get spoilt. “Try and get some sleep,” he advised.

She nodded and then returned her concentration to the front windscreen. It was getting darker and there was no moon. The road had no lighting and it was only when they passed other cars she could see Giles’ reflection. He’d insisted on keeping his travel bag with him on the back seat and Buffy was half expecting him to jump out of the car with it. She was far too on edge to sleep. He’d be memorising the route back as well as she was. They embarked on another track road, narrower than the previous. The trees on either side were high but had steepled over densely. They tunnelled on through the canopy, deeper into the darkness of the countryside.

Paul Popov looked at his passengers. Dr Jones was quiet and resolutely taking an interest in his surroundings. That was a little surprising, but Buffy was asleep as he wanted.

“That’s right,” said Popov, “Better to sleep now my darling. We have a long day ahead tomorrow.”  
[  
](http://capitano-fic.livejournal.com/1619.html)

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

In the thin light of the following morning Paul had insisted he would show Buffy the grounds of his estate. His family had made their fortune from lumber and he was excited to explain it all to her. She was reluctant at first and wanted to check up on Giles’ whereabouts but Paul had assured her that he’d just checked and ‘his man’ was hard at work. On their arrival the previous night, she’d poked around the outhouses for alternate means of transport but found the old stable block only contained their own hire car. With Giles whereabouts verified and the only set of car keys in her pocket she headed off to make appreciative noises about timber. The fresh air and daylight would be pleasant she hoped, though see one set of trees you’ve seen them all.

After a long walk through the dense woodlands and crossing many tracks, Buffy and Paul Popov came to a small rise giving them an extensive view of thousands of trees. “And this,” he pointed, “is all mine up to the ridge that way, and another 2 miles to the south.”

“It’s lovely,” she tried to enthuse, “what do you do with it? The trees I mean.”

“Currently it’s not economic to start up the lumber business so I just let them grow.”

She sat on a wooden fence and looked towards the ridge. Given the encouragement to grow they had not disappointed. The trees in his estate had swarmed up the hillside like a dark army. He certainly owned an impressive amount of land; they seemed to have been walking for hours and it was refreshing to be out of the plantation area and looking up at the sky at last. It was warm work too and she was surprised to find the temperatures so mild.

“Are you tired? It’s a bit of trek.” Buffy loved the way he was so solicitous. He just wanted to look after her. It made a nice change from always having to be the person in charge. “Am I boring you?” he asked.

“No it’s just unusual. I don’t know anything about you and here we are looking at your trees.”

He sat on the fence next to her and she snuggled into his arm, “Tell me about yourself Buffy Summers. Tell me something I don’t know.”

That was quite an invitation. He’d be very surprised if she took him up on it. Buffy opted to play safe.

“There’s not much to tell. I have one sister – younger. My father is an architect and my mother used to run a gallery. She died a couple of years back though and I don’t see much of my dad.”

“I’m sorry.”

She shrugged, “I’ve got used to it. What about you and your family?”

“There’s just me left. We’ve always owned the land here. I don’t know what to tell you…The house is 19thcentury though there were a lot of improvements made by my great-grandfather, Anton Popov. He was very progressive I think you’d say, he wanted to safeguard the future of the estate. He cut and replanted a good deal. We owe all this to him.”

“It must be nice to leave a legacy like that.”

“There was some opposition of course, the peasants held some of the trees shouldn’t be taken, but he wanted to rebuild the house and lay out the gardens as a wedding present. There was some trouble but he got his way and the rest is history.”

“He stole the peasant’s trees?”

“Oh no, nothing like that. It was a silly thing really, they objected to the oldest trees being taken. There was a huge Linden tree that was cleared for the garden area. The superstition was that it was guarding the house against Evil. It was ridiculous of course; he wanted to make something beautiful for his bride Kristina. He was a very generous man.”

Buffy was alarmed. “But he cut down the tree. I mean if the tree was protecting the house?”

“What a strange thing to say,” he laughed, “It’s just an old peasant superstition. He wanted to prove he was part of the modern world. Mind you,” he confessed playfully, “he planted watchful battalions of linden saplings around his borders, just to be on the safe side.”

“Sensible man. They’ve certainly grown. Are they what I can hear whistling all the time?”

“Do you believe in Evil Buffy? You seem too young to be weighed down by any but the brightest, happiest thoughts.”

“No argument from me on that score.” Buffy jumped down from her perch to resume the walk, “Is it this way? Some of these routes are very confusing. I thought this was the way back?”

“No, I admit the rides have got overgrown in places. I don’t advise trying to find your way around in the dark.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she replied. They began to leisurely stroll back into the woodlands. “So all this is Anton’s legacy.”

“His legacy, my heritage. I am bound by it as such. Perhaps things are different for you?”

“I used to think I was bound by Heritage. That it controlled who I was, but now I think there are always choices. There’s freedom in that. I choose my friends, I choose the people I want close to me, not strangers assigned to me.”

“Then you’re very special. You know what it is that makes you happy.”

“Some of my choices haven’t worked out too well, and sometimes people change on you, but yes, I think I’m happy.” She drove her hands into the pockets of her coat and quickened her pace.

...  
  
  
After lunch Buffy resumed her exploration of the house and grounds alone. Her rooms were on the eastern side of the house along with Paul’s. He’d told her the library was on the western side to avoid sunlight and that Giles was billeted there, to be closer to his work. Her host was planning a surprise that night he'd said and she was free to explore as she wished, however the woodlands could be tricky and she was safer staying closer to the property.

The house was in good shape considering Popov only used it a few months of the year, and Buffy had tried doors and nosed into rooms around her side of the house. The corridors were all panelled with the dark and heavy wood she’d come to associate with the house. It seemed to be irregularly built, as she kept finding different ways back to her bathroom, or the kitchen or the master bedroom but never an unlocked door to the western side. She wondered if Paul had had them locked to maintain some propriety between her and Giles. He was an old fashioned boy after all.

Eventually her investigations seemed to take her down a new corridor and the door at the end opened to a pleasantly decorated room with large airy French doors that led out into a walled garden. The furniture seemed like antiques; small uncomfortable looking chairs with delicately turned legs were pushed to the walls whilst beautifully carved tables littered the room with onyx ashtrays. There was a chaise longue of green crushed velvet that looked as good as new. The dark and heavy panelling in this room had been painstakingly carved into romantic scenes. Scantily clad nymphs frolicked towards the fireplace and paid homage to the giant centrepiece of the room; a huge green glassed mirror housed in an expensively ornate wooden frame. It was the most beautiful and delicate thing Buffy had seen in the house. The glass was old and slightly curved.

 _‘You knew him from before.’_ She thought she saw movement behind her. Odd, she’d investigate in a minute or two...

 _‘You lied to me.’_ She touched the frame gently. It was warm and inviting.

There was a knock on the door which made her jump. It seemed absurdly formal given that, to her knowledge, there were just the three of them in the house. She issued a terse “come in” and Rupert Giles entered the study suspiciously.

“I got a summons to report here,” he explained waving a hand written note.

It was the first chance she’d had to see him properly since, well the night after the destruction of Sunnydale.He’d changed his glasses since then; the frames were thicker, squarer and darker. It was strange how glass designed to let through more light could so effectively hide the wearer’s eyes. She wondered who he was trying to be this time. There were layers of clothing again. That habit was back. She remembered how when Jenny Calendar had died he’d wrapped himself in layers. Shirts, vests, jackets. Big clothes to hide his pain in. She thought he’d broken free of that particular addiction. She remembered a time when he seemed comfortable in shirtsleeves, even tee shirts. In fact there were times in the magic box where he’d looked positively relaxed. But even then perhaps he still bought and hid behind nice suits that the customers demanded of him. He’d constantly played the part that was expected of him. And now he’d retreated into his protection again. A big dark leather jacket shrouding all. Who was he now and had she ever really known him? Ethan had once taunted that he knew Giles better than she did. A part of Buffy hated to think that might be true.

“Paul isn’t here right now. He said something about organising a surprise for tonight.”

“I’ll come back then.”

“No wait. Please...” She softened and took a step towards him but stopped sharply, wrinkling her nose. “God you smell like Spike. Are you smoking again?”

Giles flinched, “It’s really none of your business is it?”

There was an awkward silence which Buffy finally broke, “I didn’t expect you to still be here. Thought you might have run away again.”

“You pocketed the car keys.” She’d been right to be vigilant. He had looked for them.

 “You’ve got some nerve showing up again after what you did to Willow.”

 

***

  
  
“Buff, we have a problem. He’s gone.”

The diner across the street had opened especially early for them as they were such a large party. The school bus had looked a bit incongruous in the parking lot but the news about Sunnydale was on all the TV stations. They just wanted breakfasts and their money was good.

Buffy had been watching Dawn eat. Her sister was still pretty shaken after last night. Too much had been said, too much she’d rather had protected her from. But that was all pointless now. They thought everything would be OK now the Hellmouth had gone. It was a shock to all of them that they couldn’t relax. Dawn had always found solace in food. Buffy wondered where she put it all. She looked up from her cup of coffee at Xander. “What do you mean gone?”

“I mean gone. He took off last night. His stuff’s gone. Bed's not slept in. That’s gone in my book.”

She shook her head sadly. “That pretty much confirms it then.”

“No wait,” said Willow, “it doesn’t confirm anything. He could just be upset.”

“I’m the one that is upset,” said Buffy coldly, “I don’t know what he is anymore.”

“We all said some pretty rough things last night.” Willow reminded her.

“Will, we have a much bigger problem than a Watcher with hurt feelings. You of all people know this.”

“Then all the more reason we should help him.”

“And we will I promise. But he’s been lying to us and we don’t know what we are dealing with. When we have him under control: then we can help him.”

Buffy rose and approached three of the young slayers in a neighbouring booth. “I need you guys to find Giles and fetch him back,” she ordered.

They looked at each other nervously. Last night’s fireworks had been tough to ignore even as relative outsiders.

“What if he doesn’t want to come back?”

“Fetch him anyway.”

“Buffy!” pleaded Willow, “You can’t send Slayers after him.”

“Why not? We’re saying he’s dangerous aren’t we? I’m hardly going to send Andrew.”

“We don’t know he’s dangerous,” Willow argued, though even Xander avoided her eye on that one, “Well OK. It’s a strong possibility, but we don’t know for sure. Let me do a locator spell. He might have just gone for a walk. It’s Giles. Please?”

“Give it your best shot,” shrugged Buffy. Willow always wanted to see the best in people, and she had a connection to Giles through her time in England. At worst she could give them a direction to search in.

Willow cleared the diner’s table of all plates and condiments. She focussed her energies on the shiny white surface. Buffy and Xander watched patiently, waiting for the map that would materialise on the Formica. Buffy swirled the bits in her coffee. This was routine stuff for Willow. It wouldn’t take very long.

“Buffy, something isn’t right,” Xander said quietly. Willow had started to take deeper breaths and gripped the booth table firmly. The surface started to glow white hot.

“Will?” But her friend was too intent on winning the battle. Sparks started to dance from her hands. The bolts holding the fittings to the floor suddenly gave way and the table slammed up from its moorings and straight into Willow. It’s momentum hurled them both across the diner and was arrested only with a sickening thud of bone on the far wall.

“Jesus Christ,” Xander was the first across the room. “What did he do? He knew she’d try.”

One of the new girls watched warily. “He can do that? What is he?”

Buffy sat stonily watching Xander. He was right. Giles knew they would use magick to find him. Giles knew it would be Willow too. Even if he was worried she was going to bounce him off the ceiling again, that was as nought to what the Slayer was going to do now.

She finished her coffee. “Dawn, call 911. You three have your orders. Do whatever you have to do to bring him back.”

“It’s going to be OK Will. You’ll be OK.” Xander was afraid to touch her but wanted to hug her so much. His fingers were shaking in the blood from her head injury, “Hang on in there. Shhh. Don’t you die on me. I can’t lose you too.”

But in six months there had been no sightings. He was too smart and knowledgeable to operate near any slayer habitats. Willow refused to talk about it and forbade any other attempts involving magick in their hunt. Kennedy had joined the tight lipped camp too which made a nice change. Faith had merely shrugged; these sorts of things happened in Faith’s world. The only possible lead they had was when Ethan Rayne had had his jaw broken by some mystery assailant in London. Buffy caught the first flight and crashed the hospital but the trail had gone cold. There were probably a long line of suspects besides Giles and Ethan was annoyingly supercilious even with paper and pen. _Just a regular mugging. What is the world coming to... I blame the parents._

‘Stay away from him’ she’d warned _. I don’t know who you mean_ , he’d written. But it was time for his meds and his eyes had lost that playful sparkle.

***

 

“You nearly killed Willow with your little protection spell. I’d stay out of Kennedy’s way if I were you. Or should she be staying out of yours these days?”

He stood dumbfounded for a second and surprised her by abruptly taking off for the big French doors and heading for fresh air.

“Come back here now or so help me I’ll..”

He swung round viciously, “Or you’ll what?” The accompanying glare was disconcerting. He resumed his course outside, tugging at his pockets for matches and a cigarette case. God it was all true. He wasn’t even going to deny it. She followed him out into the garden.

“Fine. Run away. Kill yourself with those things.”

“No, the cigarettes and I will be just fine, it’s you and your sanctimonious ways that will be the death of me.” She pulled on his arm to stop him lighting up. She was suddenly so angry with him and what’s more, she’d never seen him so angry before either. Not at her anyway. He’d always bitten his tongue in the past, supported her in everything. She felt she was seeing the real Giles at last.

“What do you want with Paul? What are you doing here anyway?” she hissed.

“He’s paying me Buffy. It’s business, an old fashioned transaction. What are you doing here? Or is that old fashioned transaction too?”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed as he stomped off further into the grounds. “Oh if you want a fight I can give you one mister.” It was all true. Any last lingering doubts had been childish. He didn’t know where to draw the line anymore. He was out of control. Robin Wood had worked hard to identify the remaining Council properties. She wondered if Giles would know which ones had detention cells. She wondered how far she could take him voluntarily.

They’d reached the far end of the walled garden, Giles stopped and dropped his head, “I’m sorry. I’m here because he’s paying me rather well and the work is interesting. There’s quite a history to his family, to this place. There’s a definite darkness here. Something vaguely evil.”

“Yes and I’m looking at him.”

“I’m serious Buffy, do you sense anything? There’s something about this place.”

“Sense something? No. Stop changing the subject.”

He looked disappointed at her, “There was a scandal in the house ninety years ago. I just haven’t found out all the details yet.”

“So pleased you’re still keeping up with the research in between bouts of being evil.”

“Don’t be childish. I am not evil. And you can’t order me about like you’re mistress of this house. You haven’t even got a ring off him. How long have you known this prat anyway?”

“Three days,” she admitted. That part was true and she got the satisfaction of annoying him with the information.

“What?”

“It’s really none of your business is it?” She folded her arms at him defiantly.

“Right then,” he said, “and here we both are. Don’t you think it’s funny that the one interesting thing that’s ever happened in this house, is the one thing he seems to want to hush up?”

“You’re just making up fairy stories now. I’m not sixteen anymore. The sun doesn’t shine out of your oratory anymore. This isn’t about him. This is about you. You’ve lost control. Are there warrants Giles? How many others are there? I saw what you did to Ethan. How many other people have you killed?”

The mention of Rayne sparked his anger again. “Sod off Buffy. Is there not some vampire you could be sleeping with?” Had this been a film she’d have slapped him in the face, but he’d always been too tall so she kicked him in the shin instead.

“Stop wheedling out of this be saying there’s something wrong with the house or with Paul. He’s a nice boy, leave him out of it.”

“Oh yes because he’s from such a fine noble family. No hint of darkness here.” But as he rubbed his shin, he was distracted by the sight of the cigarette case in his hand. He’d pulled out of his jacket as a reflex against her accusations. The case puzzled him. It was not what he expected to find. It was old with worn silver and an elaborate engraving of a hunting scene. He opened it carefully and found an inscription:

_To Rutger from K. 1912._

Buffy looked over his arm. It took her a couple of seconds to understand his surprise at it “That’s not even yours is it?” She looked at him with disgust and indignation, “It’s from the house, it’s his,” she accused. “Are you stealing as well now, _Ripper_?”

He snapped it shut and limped angrily back to the house. Finding a convenient mantelpiece he slammed the case down near the big mirror. “I don’t remember picking that up. I’ve never even seen the damn thing before.”

She folded her arms and assumed the moral high ground. “This has to stop Giles. You and me are catching a flight after the holidays. We’re going to see Robin Wood. Pick a passport I don’t care which.”

“I’m a little old to threaten with a trip to the School Principal.”

“Ah, can I hear voices?” Paul Popov’s distant voice drifted in from behind the internal door.

“Besides, would you leave him at the altar? Three days and you’re engaged? I suppose at least he’s got a pulse,” he rumbled spitefully.

“You’re a monster Giles. Don’t you touch him; I swear I’ll kill you if I have to.”

Paul Popov opened the big door and entered. Both Buffy and Giles turned and radiated rather forced tight smiles back at him.

“I thought I heard voices.” Popov looked suspiciously at his two guests. “Is everything all right my dear?”

“Peachy,” said Buffy. Giles put his hands in his pockets.

Popov’s English was impeccable but not yet Buffy-Proof and he looked confused at her phrasing. She ran and put her arm through his, smiling warmly and nodding assurances. This had the bonus of giving her the satisfaction of provoking Giles to scowl briefly at her.

“You received my note I see Dr Jones.” They’d both forgotten clean about the note. Paul stopped smiling at Buffy and confronted Giles. “I stopped by the study earlier and you were not working.” He surprised both of them by adopting the sort of superior tone that demanded explanation.

“I m..may have stepped outside for a moment.”

“Yes perhaps. But I’m paying you a great deal of money Dr Jones and I’d like to see it wisely spent. I also noticed that you were looking at my great grandfather’s papers. Well?”

Buffy was alarmed at the tone Paul was taking. He was rich and clearly used to people obeying orders.

“I was cataloguing a little,” said Giles defensively.

“I gave you specific instructions about those papers Dr Jones. Did I not make myself clear?”

He was surprisingly angry and Buffy had quite forgotten her own rage at this point. She felt uncomfortable and was worried that Giles would snap at some point.

“What were your instructions regarding those papers Dr Jones?” Paul was determined to make his point and Buffy could see that Giles was starting to resent it.

“If you are unhappy with my work I can of course leave,” the Englishman was clearly torn between wanting to get paid and wanting to offer up some instructions of his own for what Paul Popov could do with his bloody papers.

“What were your instructions?” the younger man thundered.

“To focus on the undocumented 18thcentury and to leave the 20thcentury alone,” came the stony reply.

“And yet you did not?”

Buffy didn’t think anything good could come of provoking Giles any further. She didn’t want a repeat of what happened to Willow. Or Ethan.

“He was probably just being thorough weren’t you Gi- er Jones?” Giles said nothing to confirm or deny it. He just looked at Paul Popov with an unsettling directness.

“I must say I’m surprised you are so quick to defend him my dear. Very well. Please don’t make any more mistakes. Go about your work.” Giles sauntered out of the room but his gaze never left the younger man.

After he’d gone, Buffy let out the breath she’d been holding.

“How do you do that so easily? Give orders I mean. Whenever I try it’s like scenes from Mutiny on the Bounty. For once I want to be Mel Gibson. Well, maybe sober and less crazy,” she rambled nervously.

Paul surprised her by breaking into a cheery grin, “I thought I heard raised voices before I came in. Was he upsetting you?” He voice took on a slightly menacing tone, “I will not permit that.”

“No. Please it’s alright. We were just talking.” She changed the subject hurriedly, “Why can’t he look at your grandfather’s papers? He said that something happened in the house? A scandal?”

“Scandal is over dramatising. There was some trouble over that.” He pointed to the impressive mirror. “My great grandfather is already well documented. I don’t need to pay anyone to write Anton’s story. He was a great man, a respected man. He made many improvements to the house. He had this mirror made – it was the finest piece of carving and glasswork of it’s time. It is still the most precious item in the house.” He touched the framework with all the fondest of a father of his brightest child, “It was this the peasants objected to. This was the Linden tree he cut to make a wedding gift for his bride.”

Buffy moved next to him and stared into the mirror. “The one protecting the house,” she said dreamily. She spied the stolen cigarette case below it and felt a huge sense of guilt that Paul would realise it had moved and that she was complicit. She mustn’t be caught out. Suddenly a blue light caught her eye in the reflection of the mirror, “I thought I just saw something….”

“No no, my dear. The glass is old, it can sometimes distort the light and play tricks. Have you explored the gardens at all?” He put his arm around her. She felt warm and safe again.

“Briefly. They seem very overgrown. Untidy compared to the house I mean.”

“I’m not here very often so I let the grounds take care of themselves. It keeps trespassers out. I confess I had the inside of the house prepared for your arrival. I wanted it to be special. I could never lie to you my dear.”

“You told Dr Jones we were engaged,” she pointed out.

“Yes, but that was lying to him not you. I don’t like the way he looks at you. I didn’t want him getting any ideas.” Buffy found it highly unlikely Giles was going to get those sort of ideas. He stroked her arm affectionately. “you seem very tense when he’s around, should I have him removed?”

“No. No.” she said hurriedly, “I’d actually prefer to know exactly where he is.”

Paul sighed deeply at her reply. She didn’t understand why. “What’s my surprise tonight?” she asked brightly.

“It’s Christmas eve. Is that not surprise enough?” he smiled.

“Tell me,” she pouted.

“Wait and see.”

 _You should have told me you knew him before_.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**  
  
In the late afternoon, with Paul absent preparing his surprise for that night, Buffy opted to make another attempt to seek out Giles’ new lair. He’d been given rooms on the opposite side of the house, nearer to the library for his work, but allowing the couple some privacy. Her previous attempts to track him down had failed, but then it was a bizarre house with confusing corridors.

Things had felt really weird since they’d come to this place. Her casual friendship with Paul Popov had pleased her up to then. It had been nice to be lightly romanced and not have to deal with demons and danger. But since meeting up with Giles Buffy had felt continuously on alert. Her senses were warning her of trouble and despite the heated words she didn’t want to believe that he’d truly gone rogue and that she’d lost him completely. That was the trouble with Watchers. He’d annoyed pretty much from day one but she trusted him. Even at the very lowest moments of their relationship – when he’d completely betrayed her -there had always been hope. He’d even disappeared before but she’d expected the friendship to resume. Robin had once asked her if she was prepared to kill Giles if she had to and she’d said yes and had even looked him in the eyes as she'd said it. It was however a lie as soon as it left her lips. She knew she could hurt him though which was a sobering comfort.

Surprisingly, this time Buffy didn’t have much trouble finding the place. She found an unlocked connecting door quite easily and followed her nose. She could practically smell the must from the books at twenty paces. She wondered if that was a slayer skill or just a result of hanging out with her ex-watcher too long. She felt drawn to him. He’d become a puzzle and like it or not, was her responsibility now she’d found him again. At the library door she considered knocking, but theirs had never been a relationship that required knocking and she wasn’t going to start now. She swept straight in, hoping to surprise him but was disappointed to find the place empty.

The room was darker than she'd expected. The passion for wood panelling she’d noticed in the rest of the house had really been allowed to let rip here. The Sunnydale library had windows and a skylight and she’d always felt comfortable amongst its sturdy stacks and banisters. This was a house library and seemed more determined to shield its precious contents from daylight. Giles had lit every lamp he could find and it was still dark. He wasn’t there but on the table there was evidence of his occupancy. There were old papers and some of his notes - Giles' notes - with his small careful handwriting that hadn’t changed since Sunnydale. That all seemed like a lifetime ago and yet here he was, making careful notes about someone’s family when she used to be the centre of his handwriting.

There were charts, scrolls, letters and bound volumes. Mostly Russian she guessed. Buffy turned a few pages of a slim black volume that looked to be a diary. Oddly there was the occasional English phrase. The owner seemed to be practising grammar and hiding thoughts in her foreign language skills. She read the name of the front Kristina Popova 1912. These were the papers Giles was not supposed to be reading. He still didn’t follow orders well, but then neither did Buffy. She couldn’t resist skimming for the English bits towards the end:

_R came today. He’s so alive and funny. A is so dull. He doesn’t know when R is making a joke. Only I know. He smiled at me the way he used to._

_Talked with R. He wants me to show him the garden one night. Do I dare?_

_Refused A tonight. How could I? He didn’t press the issue. Must talk with R but other guests always between us._

_A is furious. R must act. It must be tonight._

‘No wonder Giles is reading this,’ Buffy thought, ‘it’s racy stuff’. Having run out of material, she remembered the purpose of her visit and resumed her quest for the ex-watcher.

Despite the mania for darkness and secrecy, the library had a single external door that was shut but not locked and Buffy pushed through out into the garden. It was really only early afternoon but the sky was starting to grow dark already. The plants in the garden were as overgrown as the timber plantations, but there was an obvious path heading towards the tree line that beckoned her. Darkness didn’t bother her, she had excellent night vision – now that really was the slayer thing – darkness had always been her ally, she’d never been afraid of that. The path took her further into the overgrown wilderness, some of the shrubs were shoulder high and she had to skirt around the occasional sharp branch. There was a mixture of roses and rhododendron. The rose bushes snaked lazily around, trailing thorns for the unwary. Their blooms had long gone and no-one was controlling their lazy ambushes. Coarse branches were ugly and gnarled, deprived of their fragrant finery they were rough and brutish. The path quickly became testament to the fallen petals. Some faded colours clung on, but most had begun their weary path to compost giving the air a pungent mix of perfume and decay. There had been only a slight breeze when she’d set out but this was starting to build and whistle through the densely packed foliage.

Spotting a faint blue glow of a light up ahead, Buffy headed towards it. The shapes of the thicket became blacker for a time, but eventually she came out into a small clearing. There was an old fashioned street light responsible for the blue glow and 2 benches in a circle. Some attempt had been made at providing a rose canopy to protect against the sun but this had fallen and begun to rot. What had been formal plant beds were over grown with weeds, the stonework gradually being reclaimed by the earth.

Giles was sitting on the back of one of the benches with his feet on the seat. He used to abuse the chairs in the library that way too, but only when there were no students around. He lit a cigarette and crumpled the empty packet back into his pocket. He must have known she was coming, much the same way she knew he was there.

“Hello Buffy,” he said quietly and the warmth of his tone momentarily threw her. It was the British accent of course, but no-one said her name quite the way he said it. There were hundreds of Slayers now but for a time she’d been the only One, the One chosen girl in all the world. Somehow only the way Giles said her name made her feel that special.

“Dr Jones I presume,” she countered and heard him ‘hmm’. The thin blue light caught his glasses for a moments dance. She sat on the arm of the same bench, her feet at right angles to his. The light was very poor and she couldn’t make out much of his features. “I keep expecting to find you gone. Where did you stalk off to before?”

“I went for a walk. After you, and then the Little Prince, I felt like having a dignified round of tree kicking.” His shadow twitched as he spoke and he drew rapidly on his cigarette, but then all was stillness again. It was strange to watch Giles smoking; smoking was more something she associated with Spike. It added an unpleasant odour to his clothes. More protection from close contact she supposed.

“Those things will still kill you,” she said gently.

“Perhaps, but tea is a hard commodity to find outside of Britain. Nicotine is at least universal.” He blew out some smoke and admitted, “I do most of my shopping at truck stops and airports these days.”

“Where are we? What is this place?”

“It’s the formal arbour.”

“I see no ships,” she responded playfully.

“It means it’s a sheltered garden Buffy,” he said with some of the studied patience he used to use back at the High School. “Popov’s great grandfather Anton, had it designed and built for his new bride in the last century. He did a lot of renovation work here and in the house. She was a high status catch and he wanted to prove to her he was a cut above the peasantry.”

“Seems creepy here.”

“I think he intended it to be romantic. He cut down a lot of his best trees to clear this.”

“Yes he told me. Why is he paying you to write his family history?”

“Maybe it’s a wedding present for you.”

Ah. She decided to let that one pass.

“Did she like it here? His wife?”

“She didn’t have much time to enjoy it. She died shortly afterwards. She was very young.”

The wind was rustling again. One of the older trees was groaning.

“What, what exactly happened to Willow?” he asked, dropping his head so she could no longer get a reflection of his glasses. Night had fallen quickly and his profile was barely a shadow against his jacket. “Is she alright?”

“She’s OK now. There was a fractured skull…lots of swelling. She really had us scared. The doctors wouldn’t tell us anything, but she’s made a full recovery. She’s OK.”

"That’s good.” There was another flare of orange tip and a plume of white smoke as if he’d held his breath for the answer.

“She still refuses to talk about it. And no-one is allowed to do anymore locator spells for you.”

“I didn’t realise. I’m sorry,” he said softly.

“That was some powerful magick to hurt a witch as strong as Willow. What did you do?”

“It’s complicated. Nothing was aimed at her. I never intended Willow to be hurt.”

“But you knew she’d try to find you.”

He shook his head, “I forgot. That is, I didn't think.” He took a deep breath. “When the First started its campaign against the Slayer line, I asked the Coven if they could do something to protect me. I needed to avoid the bringers and help gather the potentials. Something that would keep me out of the way of the Council seemed like a good idea too.”

“Solid plan. So get them to remove it now.”

“They never set it.” He stubbed his cigarette out on the bench and threw it away. Buffy waited patiently for him to decide if he should light another. He put his hands in front of him instead and leaned forward. The leather of his elbows creaked. Buffy leaned in a little closer too.

“When they began the protection spell, they were stopped by something. They said there was a powerful force opposing them. That it seemed as if something else had already cast upon me. Something so powerful they couldn’t even begin to get close to it to understanding it. Some of them were hurt trying,” he added with a tinge of regret.

“Another protection spell? From someone else?”

“Or something. They couldn’t determine what it is or how long it’s been there. With the threat of the First there wasn’t time to investigate.”

“And you didn’t tell me this at the time because?”

“It wasn’t important. You had a lot of other concerns at the time.”

“Could it have been from the First? Is this like Spike’s trigger?”

He laughed a little bitterly, “Now that would have been ironic wouldn’t it? I don’t know. I haven’t slaughtered half of Europe if that’s what you’re thinking. Not like Spike.”

“Could it be something the Council did to you?”

“It’s possible.” He turned his head sharply to her. “What makes you say Council?”

“Or Ethan,” she added hastily. “He likes to mess with you.”

“He said not.” In three words he confirmed he’d been in London. “The Council seems the most likely candidate but there aren’t any records left to find out.” He took a deep breath. “And it wouldn’t be reversible if it was from them. As I presume you already know.”

“Yes. We’ve been doing some research,” she had to admit. “Robin Wood is rebuilding a network of watchers. He’s found a lot of the old infrastructure. Money, people, papers. He can help us with this.”

“No he can’t.” Giles surprised her with his vehemence. “If it’s from the Council then there’s only one outcome. Wood won’t take a chance. He’d try to lock me up and you know it. That wouldn’t end well.” The last sentence chilled her slightly.

She looked around her. “Is this you?” He looked back at her, puzzled. “Since we’ve been sitting here, my spider sense has been tingling like crazy. I thought you were doing some magicks.”

“No. I can’t. I daren’t. With this unknown spell the coven said there was no telling what could happen if I tried casting.”

“So this isn’t you?”

“What isn’t me?”

“Can’t you feel it?”

He contemplated the surroundings and shrugged, “Wind has died down a bit. That’s all.”

He was right. There was nothing but an expectant stillness in the air now.

“I miss our friendship Giles,” she said impulsively and reached out for his hand. He surprised her by pulling away.

“Sorry,” he mumbled and folded his arms.

“What? Is this difficult for you? Being here, talking with me?”

“Very strong urge to run away,” he ruefully admitted.

“I have that effect on guys all the time.”

“Paul seems,” he puffed his cheeks as he thought for a compliment, “admirably wealthy. He wants to marry you anyway. That’s not running away.”

Giles meant it kindly, making her feel guilty and it was time to come clean, “Yeah about that…” she began.

The blue lamp above them flickered.

“I need you to take me away from this. I need to escape, to be free, to be in your arms.”

"What?" Buffy Summers had knocked Rupert Giles out physically a couple of times over the years, but this was the first time she’d knocked him speechless.

“Darling please,” she continued, her speech suddenly formal, “I’ve made a mistake. He’s brutal. Take me with you. We can still be married.”

“What on earth are you talking about, woman?” She moved to kiss him but Giles grabbed her arms to stop her. “Buffy, what’s wrong? What’s happening?” The light was poor but her eyes seemed distant.

“I knew it! I thought I’d find you two alone!” Paul Popov’s voice thundered beside them. Neither of them had heard him approach and they jumped a little guiltily apart.

“We were just er...” Giles realised he had no idea what they were just doing.

“We were not doing anything wrong,” his companion added with petulant defiance.

“I’m afraid I must insist you return to the house at once.”

“But darling…”

“That’s an order.” Popov grabbed at Buffy’s arm and swung her around. She seemed weak and cowed and when she didn’t pull herself together and deck him, Giles began to realise that Buffy Summers was probably no longer in control.

“Hey. Hold on there," he interposed. "Look I know you’re engaged but I’m not going to let you treat Buffy..”

Popov snapped back, "You are a guest in my house. Do not interfere nor speak of my wife so informally.”

“Wife?” Giles was momentarily stung by that, “Buffy, have you actually married this poseur?”

But Buffy’s attention seemed to be with pleading with Popov, “Don’t hurt him. Rutger and I love each other.”

“What the hell is going on?” Giles scanned his environment for signs of charms and spells. Popov and Buffy were being affected by something but he couldn’t get a line on what. He grimly understood he was supposed to be part of this domestic drama but he could appreciate the irony of the source of his protection later.

The master of the house was still playing dominant male, “I need to be clear on this. I want to know why you came out here. Was it to speak to him?”

“He’s a guest in the house. I’m free to speak to whom ever I choose,” she said with impressive haughtiness.

Inside Buffy felt as if the world were changing around her. The words made a sort of sense but she was losing her grasp of who they were talking about. The lights were brighter and she could see more of the garden. The trees seemed to have come closer as though they were an eager audience hanging on every word of the drama.

“You knew him from before and never told me. You betrayed me with him.”

“No.” The words were repeating in her head again.

Buffy was getting very confused. What was her name? What was his name? There had been someone else here. Her husband was so angry. She’d done such a bad thing. But it was just a little excitement she’s wanted. Provincial life could be so dull. He could be so dull.

“You have made a fool out of me. Laughing behind my back. Have you granted him favours? Have you slept with him?”

A very small part of her thought that didn’t sound at all right and she really needed to remember who they were talking about, because that would help. But like the ocean crashing on a beach and eroding the memories, the thought was dragged away from her. She needed to remember his name, her own had gone, washed away. Out to sea with all the other details of her life. She needed him to rescue her. She needed him to make her feel safe. A part of her thought she didn’t need anyone to rescue her; that that wasn’t her life at all. It was difficult knowing which bits to hang on to.

“Hey,” said Giles, “You need to let go of her.”

“You steal my wife and then presume to give me orders?”

She could see patterns in the trees now. Old gnarled faces of disapproval. They were as ugly as his family. The branches started to close in on her. As the two men argued, the girl was overwhelmed with the sights and smells of the garden. This was their land and they didn’t welcome outsiders. She tumbled to the ground.

“Buffy?”

“Stand clear. She’s fainted.” Popov took charge of the situation immediately. Giles could only watch and feel useless as the young man laid her tenderly on the bench. He wanted to help desperately, but held back. They were together he reminded himself. It wasn’t his place to take care of her anymore.

“Paul, we need to get her back to the house. What’s happening….this is your great grandfather. You have no reason to be jealous. You are not Anton Popov, you are Paul. This is Buffy Summers. Just focus on the now.”

Popov looked at him thoughtfully. His jealous anger had at least dissipated for the moment. Giles had no hope to counteract whatever spell was on Paul and Buffy, but maybe if it acted off strong emotions, he could cool the situation down.

“We don’t need to let history repeat itself,” he said soothingly, “Let’s just all calm down and go back inside the house.”

Paul blinked, “Dr Jones? Yes, of course. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” The spell seemed to have weakened its hold on the young man. It was to be hoped the Slayer would be coming free too.

“Buffy, are you alright?” Giles dropped to one knee beside, her pulse was strong and though her eyes were glazed she seemed physically unhurt. He smiled despite himself because it was just like old times, but that lapse in concentration was his undoing. Popov punched him on the side of the head and then kicked him across the kidneys. He rolled instinctively but Popov had somehow moved to his other side and, grabbing fists of his jacket, he bodily threw the older man into the shrubbery. Giles couldn’t help but think that the kid was a lot stronger than he looked. He bounced into the platoon of shrubs which seemed a hell of a lot nearer than before. Buffy remained impassive.

“Stay out of this. It is between me and my wife.”

Giles groaned, trying to rise. He was getting too bloody old for this. Everything hurt like hell and he was caught in some weeds and brambles and his legs held fast. He tried to kick himself free but only slipped face down into the earth again. He needed to stop this possession. He needed Buffy to snap out of it. And most of all he need to get free of this sodding shrubbery. He lifted himself to his elbows to examine what he was caught upon. The ground was thick with thorns and roots. He made to rise further but strong tendrils of ivy moved swiftly and wrapped themselves around his arm. He was hit on the back of the head by something and felt thorny vines embrace his throat. Suddenly everything started to drag him further into the undergrowth.

“Anton?”

“Kristina, my darling.”

“What are you doing? Where are we?”

“You fainted, we came outside for some air.”

Giles kicked and fought savagely but there wasn’t just one attacker, he was swamped by many. He was not only caught but actively being pulled backwards and, he realised with growing horror, downwards into the earth itself.

“Buffy!”

“You’re always such a considerate husband. What would I do without you.”

“Are you ready to go back inside my love?”

“I still feel a little weak. Perhaps if you carry me.”

“Buffy help me!”

The girl stopped and was listening, “Did you hear that? The wind seems to be picking up again.”

“Don’t worry my dear, I’ll keep you safe. I always do that don’t I?”

Anton Popov swept his bride into his arms and set off back to the house. A golden light enveloped them as they made their way along the path. Behind them the darkness circled hungrily. Giles was getting more frantic as he felt himself being pulled down into the ground. More and more twines seemed to wrap around him. He tried to grab at roots, but they mocked him and only speeded up his progress. Heavy branches hit his shoulders and back. His fingernails clawed at the earth.

“Buffy… BUFFY!...”

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**  
  
There was darkness and yet there were voices. It took a long time to equate the two. Male voices and yet still darkness all around him. “Hello?” Giles started to spit and cough out earth. He could definitely hear voices and called again, “Anyone there? Somebody help me.”

The darkness was sliced suddenly apart by shafts of light. There were harsh torches, but there were also kind arms pulling him up. The voices were excited but he couldn’t make out the words. “Thank you,” he spluttered as he was pulled upright. Hands were sweeping the earth from his clothes.

A torch shone brightly into his eyes, “American?”

“No English,” he answered. He brushed his own clothes roughly and smoothed his hair. His glasses had gone and he started to look on the ground for them.

“Dr Jones?” The hands that had seemed so helpful had evidently relieved him of his wallet. He stopped searching for his glasses and looked more carefully at his rescuers. The one in charge was studying his passport with official disdain. Most of the light from their torches was on him, but he could make out enough to see telltale flashes of badges, sidearms and nightsticks. One of the younger officers spoke some English, “Can you explain what you are doing here?”

“I’m a guest at the house. I must have lost my way in the grounds and stumbled. It’s very dark out here.”

This was duly translated to the sergeant and seemed to be cause of no small amount of conversation. Giles wanted his passport back very badly.

“The house is closed. Not permitted. No access here.”

“I assure you the house is open. I’m a guest.” The young officer translated this again, causing a rather fierce response from the sergeant.

“You must explain what you are doing here.” In English it sounded far more polite than the noises from the senior officer.

“I’m a guest of the owner. I’m doing some research work for him. We can go to the house now and ask him.”

“The house has been closed up for many years. We want to know why you are here now, on this night in particular.”

“Why? What’s so special about this night?”

“Every Christmas Eve we are required to patrol. We have not had a trespasser in 12 years. But still we patrol.”

“I don’t understand. You patrol here? Why?”

“To prevent the tragedies.”

The sergeant was feeling left out and intervened strenuously at this point. There was much conversation as Giles looked about for his glasses again. One of the other policemen handed them to him wordlessly. If he could just get his passport back now...

“It attracts people for the suicide. They come from many places. The inspector makes us patrol to stop people from gaining access to the house. It’s been a problem for many years. Christmas can upset people. We don’t know how the couples meet, what draws them here but they end up here, taking their own lives.”

“Couples? Two people, two people always die?”

“Yes always two. But we have prevented you so we go to our inspector now who will be happy.”

“No wait, there are two people in the house now. They’ve only recently met. We have to go back. We have to stop this. You have to listen to me.” But the sergeant was determined to take him away. Not for the first time Giles felt a situation spiralling out of his control.

 

***

  
  
“Can you give us the room please guys?”

Buffy had secured the backroom of the motel for the Sunnydale survivors’ party but it was clearly not a celebration anymore as Giles approached. All the new slayers were filing out quietly which was puzzling if there was to be a meeting. He was tired but smiled encouragingly at a few only to have them drop their eyes and keep walking past. Andrew had been, well Andrew when he’d delivered the summons. Giles had thought him melodramatic and self-important as he'd escorted him to the door of the room, but it was somewhat alarming when the boy stopped short of going in, his duty discharged and with worry etched over his face fled instead. The watcher gloomily thought that perhaps he would be required to pay another bill or settle another dispute. They were all tired and needed to sleep. Giles had done additional chores of ferrying the wounded to the hospital, sorting out their medical expenses, buying clothes, securing motel rooms and evidently funding the rental of this back room. He wondered at what point Robson’s Council credit card would fail and his own fraudulent use of it would come to light.

Kennedy was whispering something to Buffy as he entered. Her chin stuck out angrily the same way Buffy’s used to when she was pissed off at him in the library. That was a million years ago. Now she’d just stab him through the heart and be done with it. Whatever Kennedy was saying had ended and she left. Her face was angry but her eyes were oddly sympathetic. He hadn’t expected that from her. She may have been a Slayer but her father had money. Ever since he’d met Kennedy she’d mostly treated him as some sort of porter. When he’d delivered her safely to Buffy’s house he’d half expected a tip.

The room had emptied of all but Buffy, Faith, Willow, Dawn and Xander who were seated around a long table. Dawn and Willow with their backs to him. Buffy commanded the table easily. It was a Council of War with the faintest overtones of a Court Martial.

“Andrew said you wanted to see me?”

“Shut the door Giles.” She said it evenly. The order was there and plainly meant to be obeyed. She was not asking him. He was not on equal footing in this room. Giles made a long show of turning and closing his exit, then he approached the table and stared back at his former Slayer. Giles had seen a long line of people attempting to intimidate him since his school days. She was going to have to try harder than that.

“Sit down.”

“I think I prefer to stand.” She wasn’t going to push him around over seating arrangements either. He put his hands in his pockets as nonchalantly as he could. Buffy, he noted was in full power stance.

“Did you enjoy today Giles?”

“Not especially,” he answered warily, “we prevailed but a lot of good people died.” Xander dropped his head a little and Giles put out a hand to his shoulder, but the young man surprised him by flinching out the way.

“Robin said you were very adept at killing the ubervamps and the bringers.”

“Sorry? I suppose. He did alright himself.” He couldn’t for the life of him see where this was leading.

“But you killed a lot? Personally.”

“Was I supposed to be keeping score?” He looked around the table. It had been his job. He’d been supposed to kill the Turok-Han and the bringers. They all were. “What’s this about?”

“It’s about your kill rate Giles.”

“I’m sorry I’m not a slayer.”

“No, but you are proficient. And that is a concern to us.”

“I’ve had a lot of training. I trained you.”

“How many people would you say you’ve killed Giles? Today that is.”

“I don’t remember.” He shook his head. “Look I don’t know what point you’re trying to make but can we discuss this in the morning? I’ve had a long day and I think we all need sleep.”

“Then let’s get to the point. Let’s talk about the night I died. You do remember _that_ I take it?”

“Vividly.” It was the one of the worst nights of his life and he resented being forced to discuss it in front of the others.

“You had another busy night then I think.”

“Dealing with your broken body? And the mess you’d left for us? Yeah that was busy.” He was angry she’d brought up the business of Glory, he was never going to tell her what he felt about that night. “Yes, that was a damn busy night.”

“Because you see we were wondering what happened to Ben?” She asked the question so casually that he momentarily seemed to forget how to breathe. “You remember Ben? Shared a body with Glory the hell god? The cute doctor Ben? The one who saved your life Ben? We were wondering what happened to him.”

“He died,” said Giles very quietly.

Buffy was remorseless. She folded her arms, “That’s a bit of British understatement isn’t it Giles? The police report said he was brutally murdered.”

“It was a confusing night,” he countered.  
  
Dawn suddenly rose angrily and snarled, “Did you kill him? Did you kill him because you couldn’t kill me?”

It was blunt and unexpected, “No. Dawn I…” he wanted to comfort the teenager, explain everything. He didn’t understand what was happening. Why everyone he cared for seemed to only hate him in return. Ever since that night he’d been pushed further away from them.

Willow and Xander both hugged Dawn down to them.

Buffy resumed her icy interrogation, “Answer the question Giles. Did you murder him?”

“Does it matter? He’s dead and that means Glory is dead too. No more running because she’d after the Key. She was a god and would not be stopped. We’d all be dead now if Ben were still alive. I stand by what I did.”

“So this was you, taking another decision about who lives and who dies? We’re really lucky to have you taking this responsibility on our behalves. Because it worked out so well with Spike.”

“My hero,” muttered Faith sarcastically.

“Oh it’s all back to Spike is it? Brilliant bloody Spike. Our beloved champion.” His sarcasm struck a nerve.

“He was a better man than you. I don’t know who you are anymore.” She was angry and shouting, “You’re a monster!”

“Well you should know you’ve slept with enough of them!” The gloves were off.

“How do you sleep at nights?” she retaliated, “Death really is _your_ gift isn’t it?”

“Spike wasn’t the only one to die today.” Giles blocked, “Amanda, Anya. People you should care about at least as much as Spike.”

Xander rose swiftly at his ex-fiancée’s name and fiercely pushed Giles in the chest.

“Don’t you talk about Anya. You never mention her name.”

Everyone froze waiting for Giles to react but he was too puzzled to push back. Eventually Buffy calmed sufficiently and said “We’re done here.”

“Yeah,” added Xander. “You need to be elsewhere.” And it was evidently over.

Giles looked around the room for allies. Faith was looking at him like he was dirt. Xander was looking like he wanted something Watcher-size to punch. Willow was looking heartbreakingly betrayed. In a way he understood that. He’d come close to telling her about Ben during their time in England, but couldn’t in the end. He knew she would just think less of him. Dawn was crying, but trying not to make any noise about it. Only Buffy was calm, but then Buffy was always calm towards him these days. Frankly she was ice to him these days. He’d been dismissed from the room. They were disappointed, angry and wanted him to leave. Well that he could do.

 

***

  
  
The trees were playing games with him. He knew the way back should not be so difficult but whenever he felt he was close, roots, trunks and branches would form an impenetrable shield. It was not that they were moving, he didn’t hear or see that, they just seemed to anticipate his course and toy with his actions. He’d at least lost sight and sound of the police. Giving them the slip was stupid but his impassioned pleas to be allowed to return hadn’t worked. Somehow he doubted they were faring any better in this supernatural jungle.

All that motivated him was to get to the house and help Paul and Buffy. He couldn’t let them die. Buffy was too important and Paul had a right to live without being cursed by jealousy crazed grandfathers. Since he was ten years old he’d been taught that Watchers watch and Slayers die and that’s the natural order of things. Slayers die, Watchers move on. Well this Slayer wasn’t going to die. Not again. Moving on hadn’t been an option the first time and he wasn’t lifting a spade to bury her a second time.

“Buffy” he shouted in a mixture of hope and desperation. If she was in the grip of some supernatural possession then anything could happen. He tried to second guess how the two people could die. The police had suggested suicide but that could have been an official line to sweep the dead under the carpet. They would want to keep their murder rate down. They also said it was always two bodies. She might be the one to have to kill Paul, he was much stronger than he looked. Giles began to climb up a trunk, if he couldn’t go through or round he’d damn well go over. He used to be good at climbing trees; first for apples, then for adventure, sometimes to hide from his father. Buffy would never be able to live with herself if she took a human life. Maybe that’s what always happened in this house? Giles’ father would have said he was born to help his slayer, but Giles didn’t think he had any watcher left in him these days. This was common decency. This was Buffy Summers the woman he had to help. She was more than a job description.

...  
  
  
Anton Popov carefully laid his wife down on the chaise longue in the drawing room. He raised her feet and removed her shoes reverentially. Her red silk dress was the most expensive item of clothing he’d even seen, much less paid for, and now it justified its cost by blossoming out beautifully around her pale legs. She was perfection for whom gifts could never be undervalued.

“Let me get you something to drink darling.” She lightly blinked open her eyes as he pressed a glass to her lips.

“What happened?” she gasped.

“You fainted. But I have you now. Everything is safe.”

Kristina Popova pushed him lightly away and looked around the room. “What have you done?”

“Do you like it?” he asked eagerly.

Instead of the harsh gas lighting she’d become used to, the room was lit by hundreds of candles. The darts of light bounced back at her from the Linden Mirror and seemed to pierce her with their intensity. There were decorative bunches of logs and berries. Imported ripe fruit gave off a rich sultry aroma fighting hand to hand with the cigar smoke and strong alcohol. Against the mirror stood an impressive pine tree that had been cut down and decorated with glass trinkets, yet more berries and further candles tied to the stouter branches. The servants had spent hours in the preparation.

“Do you like it?" he repeated.

She smacked her lips in foul humour, her reply was bitter and harsh, “Don’t you think I see enough of trees out there?”

“But I thought…”

“God, when you said a surprise. I thought you meant jewellery.”

Popov kneeled at her couch and took her hand, “But I wanted this Christmas to be perfect for you. It’s your first in our home here. I wanted everything to be perfect for you.”

“You always do,” she replied with sarcasm, swinging her legs round to rise, “I should go back to the other guests. They must be wondering where we’ve got to.”

Popov stiffened, “You mean go back to _him_ don’t you?”

Kristina’s lips smiled quickly. Her husband hadn’t seemed to notice the attention Rutger Meister was paying her. It was exciting to think he had after all. “He’s one of our guests,” she said playfully, “it would be rude to leave a guest waiting.”

Popov stood quickly, she was playing him for a fool and he hated it, “You should have told me you knew him before. You spend all your time with him. All those little looks and sly conversations.”

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you,” she replied with a slight yawn.

“He is no longer welcome in my house to trifle with my wife,” the husband played his trump card, “You will find your lover has already left.”

Kristina looked thoughtful at the news. “There was something I was supposed to remember,” she said somewhat unexpectedly. The thought puzzled her but she snapped back to the present, “He would not abandon me.”

“We’ll see.” Popov went to his desk by the door and retrieved a leather attaché case. From it he removed two revolvers and began loading the first. “Perhaps I need to take precautions to protect my property then.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” his wife’s voice held nothing but contempt.

“My honour is at stake. Your honour is a lot harder to find these days.”

He proceeded to load the second revolver. He was calm now. He knew what he was going to do.

“You animal. You know nothing of the ways of civilised men. Rutger is a gentleman.” But her husband was silent. He finished his loading and started to recheck both weapons. “I cannot be expected to remain a prisoner here with no entertainment,” she pleaded. Satisfied, Popov slipped one weapon in his pocket, the other he left on the table nearest the door.

“There really is something I’m forgetting,” the girl said absently.

Anton Popov tried to steer her back to the conversation, “I have given you everything. You and your lover will not take my self respect as well.”

“Something…or someone? Something happened outside, before. What was it?”

He was losing her, “You’re still weak from your fainting fit. Here, let me help you with another drink.”

He retrieved the barely touched glass from before and went to his wife. He could see his reflection in the Linden Mirror. A solicitous husband tending to his ailing wife. A perfect image.

“No no,” she pushed his hand away more firmly than before, “I must remember.” She creased her beautiful forehead in concentration. “…..Giles? she said uncertainly, “…..something about a Giles?”

It was Popov’s turn to look genuinely puzzled, “Who or what is Giles?”

A third voice joined them from the doorway. “That would be me, son.”

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

**Chapter Five**  
  
Giles had often heard the expression dragged through a hedge backwards, but he’d never really appreciated just how painful it could be to actually try it. He was bruised, battered and slightly light headed but he’d done a lot of thinking in his battle to the drawing room. He was reasoning that the police couldn’t be far behind so his basic plan was to keep everyone alive till that particular branch of the cavalry arrived. Two bodies the young police officer had said, one of them always a girl.

If Popov was surprised at the last minute change to the cast list, he got over it very quickly. He was still kneeling by Buffy but he pulled the revolver out his pocket and raised it at the newcomer. “I must say,” he grinned, “you’re very persistent.”

Giles took in his surroundings as casually as he could, “It’s my one remaining virtue.” The revolver looked old but well maintained. Buffy was propped up on the chaise longue in the blue jeans and woollen top he’d seen her in previously. She seemed lost in thought somewhere, which wasn’t a look that worked for a Slayer at the best of times. Giles smiled when he noted the gun's companion piece on the table closest to him.

“Go on pick it up. Face me like a man,” challenged Popov. “It’s loaded. Tell him it’s loaded.”

At this command Buffy came to life and laughed a little cruelly, “Yes it is, but you mustn’t fight him. It’s what he wants.”

“Buffy are you alright?” but he wasn’t going to get an answer. The slayer had returned to her trance. Giles agreed with her advice but distrusted the source. The two of them could overpower Popov, but they needed to work together.

“Paul, I don’t think you’re going to shoot me in cold blood. I don’t think that’s what happened.”

“You’d be surprised what I can do.”

“I know you killed your wife and her lover in 1912. And that you keep killing them.”

“Haven’t we been busy,” Popov said sarcastically.

“Sack me,” Giles shrugged, “I may be slow on the uptake but I get there in the end.”

“We’re hearing all your virtues tonight.”

“But this is different now. I’m not playing your party games.”

“You’re here anyway.” Popov’s statement was simple and perceptive. In fact a little too perceptive, ghosts never tended to such self-awareness but this one was off the script and a little too comfortable about it. “He was a coward you know, Rutger Meister. He thought he was a class apart and could take what he wanted. Usually at this point they are begging to be spared.”

“Let Buffy go.”

“You are different to the others. But does that make you a better man? Are you to be the hero Mr Giles? Or a monster?”

Popov moved round the back of Buffy’s couch, he held the revolver lightly but its direction was never in doubt. “She loves you. Do you know that?”

“You’ve misunderstood.”

“But you actually do know each other. Oh the irony, you actually have been lying to me.”

Giles raised an eyebrow, “You’ve not been entirely honest yourself have you?” and took a lazy step into the room. He was within reach of the second revolver but knew any sudden movements would currently be futile. Popov was just as likely to shoot Buffy as himself. He still needed to work out the rules of this new game.

Anton Popov looked at the Mirror, at his world, where his wife was worried on the sofa and his rival cowering by the fireplace. His world was ugly but it made a macabre sense. “You don’t see anything of this do you? You’re not affected, but here you are anyway. What interesting people you are.  She’s very special to you I think?”

“We don’t have to go through all this again.”

“But she loves you,” Anton insisted.

Giles shook his head, “She really doesn’t.”

“But that’s why you are here Mr Giles. I know that’s why you couldn’t stay away.”

Popov seemed determined to prove some sort of point before he fired. Giles decided to try a new tactic. “We should ask her. Buffy, can you hear me? You need to get up now and come over here please. The police are in the grounds, they will be here any minute.”

But the girl turned her head to Popov and pleaded, “I want to stay here. Please don’t hurt Rupert. I’ll never see him again I swear.”

He patted her shoulder kindly, “You admit you knew him before? That you love him.”

“Yes.”

Popov looked in triumph, but Giles was unaffected “It’s a nice thought but no she doesn’t. It’s just another parlour game. You’re manipulating her to say what you want her to. You…” Giles’ voice petered out as he realised the implications. His eyes flashed around the room.

Popov was excited and smiling broadly, “Let’s hear you work it out then, bright boy.”

“Which means, you’re doing all of this. Buffy isn’t possessed by your wife. She’s possessed by you.” And Giles finally understood, “It’s always you. In fact it’s only you.” Giles picked up the second revolver. “Buffy. I need you focus on me please. Don’t look into the mirror. Or look at him. Look at me. I need you to remember who I am. Can you do that?”

She looked blankly at him. Everything was shrouded in different overlapping worlds. The pull of the warm smells of Christmas seemed strongest.

“Come on Buffy. It’s me it’s Giles.” He moved towards her. Popov still held his gun but seemed amused to watch the Englishman’s efforts. “Giles. I was your Watcher in Sunnydale. You’re the Slayer. Sunnydale Buffy think, Willow, Xander, Dawn. Cordeilia, Anya, Angel, even Spike god help us.”

“I’ll thank you to stop hounding the girl. I have a right as a husband to insist upon that.”

“You are not married to this jerk. You are my Slayer.”

Buffy seemed to be making some progress through the fog. She looked intensively at the strange and muddied Englishman in her drawing room. “I don’t know who you are.”

“Yes, yes, you've said that before.” Giles muttered softly.

“I know who he is.” Popov was enjoying this new game, his rival was failing to make much headway and it entertained him. “He’s a coward. A liar. He’s a man that runs away.”

“I killed Ben.” Giles raised his voice. It was all he had left. “Remember Buffy? Remember that? That first night after Sunnydale. Remember how angry you were with me? How angry I hadn’t told you about Ben? How angry everyone was, how Xander told me to leave, Willow’s hurt eyes, even Faith looking at me like I was something she'd stepped in, which is mighty rich coming from Faith. How Dawn was crying? Everyone was shouting. You shouted I was a monster, I shouted you should know you’ve slept with enough of them? Come on Buffy, you don’t forget good stuff like that. You’ve let it fester for six months now. Remember how much YOU HATE ME.”

The words were still some way off but Buffy finally made a connection to the voice and her memories.

“Giles?”

“That’s my girl!”

Two shots rang out just as the police finally found, and broke through the door.

 

***

Dawn came into the back room of the motel and sat down next to Buffy. It was late but nobody wanted to go to bed. They’d had the fight of their lives that day and some of them hadn’t made it. The potentials had become Slayers. Robin was in the hospital and no-one wanted to be out of sight of the others for too long. Buffy had negotiated the exclusive use of the back room for the group. She and Xander had explained they’d been in Sunnydale, yes the one on the news, but that they wanted privacy. They’d been a bit vague about the school trip they’d been on but the manger was sympathetic. Their Principal had been taken ill but the English teacher seemed responsible enough.

“You OK Dawny?” Her little sister looked tired and a little shaken.

“Yeah, I’ve just stopped by Giles’ room. He said he was getting an early night.”

“It’s catching up with the old man,” laughed Willow. “Probably had his fill of teenage girls and their awesome powers,” she added with a shameless flirt at Kennedy.

“Probably had his fill of that back in the library days,” remarked Xander.

“Or the magic box.”

“Or when we used to crash his place in the middle of the night.”

“God,” said Buffy, “Did that man ever lock a door?” the three of them giggled fondly at the memory.

“Buffy, what’s wrong with Giles?” Dawn asked the question so very quietly they almost missed it. “You two don’t seem to talk anymore. It’s more than the Spike thing isn’t it?”

“Yeah, brat has a point,” chipped in Faith, “back in the day, you guys used to be so, watcher and slayer-y. It was kind of sickening.”

Buffy had been dreading someone asking that question, but she’d also rehearsed her answer. “He just needs some space,” she said, “I mean, we may have thought very little of the Council, but Giles must have known a lot of them personally. It can’t have been fun, travelling around trying to find potentials before the bringers. I mean, he must have been too late as well, a lot of the time.”

Even the boisterous element of the room had calmed at this point. The discredited watcher had been instrumental in saving all their lives one way or another. For some it was just cash and a fake passport but for some that had been enough.

“He was nearly too late for me,” Kennedy said. “The Council told us to run and not to trust anyone. But we didn’t get very far before my watcher was cut down and I was facing three bringers with nothing more than deadly than a hair brush. Out of nowhere this tall dude just swept in and took them out. I’ve never seen anyone so …angry. He really wailed on those guys.”

“Yeah, same thing here,” Rona admitted, “he was pretty vicious, out of control even. I didn’t know who I was more scared of.” This caused a little laughter and Buffy was tired and hoped that would end the conversation.

Dawn however was not content to leave it at that. “No, something else is wrong. Not just the Council. Before then. I mean when he took Willow to England, he was acting like he couldn’t get away fast enough. And before that even, let’s not forget the ‘he left us when we needed him the most’ part.”

“He’s entitled to his own life.”

“You’re not listening properly, Buffy. Entitled, yes, but is it his life? He’s not been acting like Giles for a long time now. I know we ruled out him being the First, because we drove to the desert and prodded him. But why did we suspect him in the first place? Because he was distant and because he hadn’t hugged anyone. That’s not like Giles, not really.”

“He’s British. They’re not good at the hugging.”

“Oh come on. No-one is that British. He doesn’t even like to be in the same room with us half the time. Why isn’t he here now? He should be here, waving his Council credit card while it still works. Looking after us. Being here with us.”

“Caleb wasn’t the First either. He could touch plenty,” Faith had the decency to look a bit embarrassed at bringing that up especially when everyone tried not to look at Xander’s eye patch.

“He is on his own a lot these days,” said Willow sadly, “I can’t seem to talk to him much.”

“He’s not another Caleb,” ruled Buffy. “Look, I know what it is, OK. I know what it is. It’s me,” she admitted flatly, “He can’t stand being around me.”

“Crap. He loves you B. Hey, just saying.” It was almost heart-warming coming from Faith but Buffy couldn’t help thinking that Faith had missed a lot of episodes.

“Of course, maybe we’re looking at this wrong. I mean you died,” Kennedy interrupted.

“Yeah.” agreed Buffy, cautiously taking a moment, “So what?”

“As you know that can really screw up the watcher.”

“Yeah,” Buffy took another moment. “How do I know?”

“It’s in the Slayer Handbook.” Both Faith and Buffy looked blank. “Did you two never read the Slayer Handbook?” The older slayers guiltily shook their heads.

“We’re not really book chicks,” said Faith trying to help again, yet oddly, not.

Kennedy shook her head sarcastically, “And the fate of the world rested with you two.”

“Sweetie?” Willow thought it wisest to refocus the conversation, “What’s your point?”

“Only that there are precedents for this sort of thing. Most watchers don’t live very much after their slayers die. They either get themselves killed or they go off the rails. Some turn to magicks and dark stuff and the Council have to intervene. Depends what he was like before. Has he ever been violent?”

“Oh shit!” exclaimed Faith. Buffy forgot she’d told her about her watcher’s past. Faith also knew enough of the night of the band candy. ‘Ripper’ had badly beaten an elderly cop. How had she described him – ticking time bomb guy – was that coming back to haunt her?

There was a potential loophole though and she voiced it. “But I’m alive now. I’m like, over it. Shouldn’t he be?”

“Although, oh my god!” Kennedy had had another thought.

“What, what?” She might be Willow’s girlfriend but she and her book smarts were really starting to bug Buffy.

“Watchers and Slayers are meant to get along. They have a relationship that’s special and uniquely personal. In the fifteenth century the Council tried using witchcraft to bind a watcher to a slayer. They were losing a lot of watchers to the Black Death and it’s hard to form a natural bond with a replacement watcher. So they found a way to speed the process up. Trouble was those guys really went off the deep end when their slayer was killed. The magicks were too strong. There was one guy that nearly ended the world. Council had to mount a crusade to stop him.”

“Oh. Well. Grief can be like that. Especially if you fuel it badly,” Willow muttered.

“Just what are you trying to say?”

“Just that maybe your dying probably upset him, a bit.”

Buffy couldn’t help thinking that Kennedy had just said a whole lot more than that.

“But Giles was your first Watcher right? And the Council stopped doing that sort of magic centuries ago. And anyway they were the good guys.”

“Yeah.” Buffy didn’t like this clinical discussion of one of her personal relationships. And she especially didn’t like the way Kennedy was implying the Council may have done something dangerous just to make Giles like her. That was both humiliating and kinda creepy.

“So we’re saying he’s Psycho watcher now? Jeez, Spike got a soul and Giles got evil. You really do miss a lot in the joint.” But there was no laughter at Faith’s attempt to lighten the mood. Instead the room was as silent as a cathedral as everyone became aware that another presence had joined them. Only Xander gasped in surprise, but then everyone else knew.

“Anya? You made it,” he choked.

The presence in Anya’s clothes directed its attention to him. It split itself  in two from top to bottom, then rejoined as a thousand cartoon rabbits had done so before it.

“Guess again. Bachelor boy,” she mocked. “But then you never understood what you had when you had it. You were too much of a child Xander Harris. Spike and Rupert knew far more than you ever will.” It turned to Willow conspiratorially, “great spell by the way, the table in the magic box saw plenty of action that day.”

Willow’s eyes flashed dangerously, “Leave us alone. You’ve no business here and I’m guessing you have very little time left for these parlour tricks.”

The Anya smile glided into Tara’s shy smirk.

“It’s over isn’t it baby? And the sheets are barely cold. You moved on pretty quickly Will. I’d have waited for you beyond a thousand deaths. Don’t look so worried, I’d never hurt you. Not when I have so much to be grateful for you for. After all it was your resurrection spell that opened the portal for me in the first place.” She paused and enjoyed their reactions. “You seem surprised? I thought they’d consulted Beljoxa's Eye? Oh dear. They didn’t tell you. Perhaps they had other things on their minds.” The First gave a dirty wink to Xander.

“Stop this, you’re not Tara,” challenged Buffy.

“No. But I could be Joyce if you like little girl. Tell you what,” it was actually a relief when Jenny Calendar appeared, “that better? God, such a trail of carnage you people leave behind you.”  

She wasn’t as solid as the previous apparitions. Willow was right; the destruction of the Hellmouth had closed off the First’s power source. Her time couldn’t last much longer.

“No Rupert tonight? Oh no. That’s right. He can’t be here can he?” ‘Jenny’ turned a look of pure hatred at Dawn, “I’d have liked to have seen him kill you up on the tower. You’re such an annoying brat. Finally put you out of all our miseries. What? You seem surprised? Did she never tell you about that? About what he wanted to do to you?”

Dawn looked in confusion to Buffy, “Giles?”

“You can’t protect her Buffy. I don’t know why you try to hide her from the darkness. There’s a monster in your midst and you don’t realise just how much harm he can do.” Andrew was looking a mixture of pride and nervous concern. “Sorry small fry. Not you.”

The First changed again but this time to blue hospital scrubs and good looking man most of the room didn’t recognise.

“Did you ever ask yourselves what happened to me? I was human. I helped people. Saving lives, saving _his_ life. Did you even care? Did you ever wonder who snuffed the life out of my body?”

As a final hurrah, Ben changed into Caleb.

“Have you ever asked yourselves children, who is Rupert Giles? I could’ve had the bringers kill him anytime I wanted. You let him wander around on his own so much it would have been so easy, but it amused me to see you sharing confidences with him, trying to be his friend. Because you don’t know do you? You have no idea.” He grinned broadly, “Watch your back kiddies.” And the image of the First finally faded to nothing only instead of a cheshire cat grin it was the white of the insulting clerical collar that was the last thing to depart. There was a long silence before anyone dared to speak.

Finally Faith plucked up the courage, “It’s just the First. A last attempt to screw with our heads.”

“Andrew, go and fetch Giles here now please.” There was a hurried scrape of chairs as the boy rushed off to follow Buffy’s orders.

Dawn’s eyes were red and shining, “Was it true that Giles wanted to kill me?”

Buffy tried to put arm around her sister, “I wouldn’t have let that happen.”

The girl shrugged her off, “What it TRUE?”

“Yes.”

“Did he and Anya…?” Xander’s voice cracked a little.

“I don’t know,” said Buffy.

“Did he kill Ben?” asked Willow.

“I don’t know. No. He wouldn’t. It’s unthinkable.”

“No. No. He can’t have. I’d know. He’d have told me. In England, he’d have told me,” Willow became upset at her own arguments, “Buffy?”

“I don’t know,” she repeated.

The party was most definitely over and the urge to stay together drained away from the new slayers. This was something for the war council to resolve. When Buffy asked for the room, they gladly filed out.

Buffy was worried about Dawn. She was so angry. Xander and Willow looked hurt and confused and yes, angry too. Faith was just shocked and looking to Buffy to see how to react. Kennedy was the last to leave. She leaned in to Buffy, “When he rescued me that day from the Bringers he-“

“I know, out of control I got that.”

“Maybe, but he did save my life that day. That sort of thing matters to me. I wouldn’t want that point overlooked.”

 

***

  
  
Buffy heard the two shots and the world seemed to slow down. All she could see was contained within the mirror. There was no-one else in the room with her but the mirror was filled with images. Popov was standing with his revolver at his side, but somehow he’d changed into full evening clothes. Her own reflection found her in a beautiful red silk evening dress still upon the sofa.  The room was lit with candles and smelt of woodland berries, brandy and cigar smoke. The girl in the red dress thought she was in control, thought no-one could touch her. He couldn’t take his eyes off her in that dress. He loved her so completely he only wanted to keep her safe. He wanted to give her the world. He thought he had.

But Buffy knew she wasn’t the girl he was really thinking of. She knew who all the players were in their little drama. There was Anton as he’d always been. The shots had been a surprise but everything else made a warped sort of sense. He only wanted to protect her. She was aware that there were others who had entered the room. She couldn’t see them in the mirror but she heard their voices, angry and excited. The sofa was moved slightly, jolting her and she thought she heard a man’s voice far away shout “Get the gun”.

Popov’s eyes were desperately trying to keep her focused on his world. “Hold him”. Somehow she knew it wasn’t even English the men were shouting, but she understood the meaning. Was this how it had happened? Would her husband kill her now? No, that was the other story not hers. Her story was different. The shots were different.

Someone was screaming her name. Someone she loved was in pain but she couldn’t place who. “Don’t hurt him,” she said softly. In speaking she felt like she was part way back through her journey. Anton Popov was smiling at her still. He looked so very proud of her. He was finally happy because he had got what he wanted. He turned very slowly to the Linden Mirror, raised his weapon and fired at the centre of the glass.

There was a moment’s pause. An improbably stretched second in which it seemed that nothing had happened. No violence. No sound. No movement. The world held its breath as it waited for her to understand.

She already knew some of it. She knew she was no longer alone in the room. She’d felt them break the door, crash into the sofa she sat upon. Dark jackets and caps. Nightsticks and vengeance. There was one policeman kneeling by the dead body on the floor, a second was holding a gun by its tip as if in evidence, the others seemed to be panicking trying to hold down the gunman. They were kicking him and shouting. She heard her own voice again, “don’t hurt him”. In that moment she connected with who it was and what happened. At that moment of revelation time resumed its stately course. Anton had fired at his mirror of course; the Linden tree that had guarded the house could stand down.

“Take cover!” she shouted and shielded her face. The explosion of the glass and the noise of splintering wood seemed to rip through the house. The room seemed to heave and Buffy felt blood ringing in her ears. Light danced off the shards of glass as they flew around her. The panelling cracked loudly and sent a further peel of groans from the plantation outside. Her sofa moved again but this time because the ground beneath it surged in a stranglehold of death. Finally the cacophony stopped and Buffy opened her eyes.

The police were still there but the room was very different. The thick lavish curtains had gone and the thin light of dawn met no obstacle to show the room in all its squalor. The fittings were smashed, the panelling had been torn away or burnt and there was graffiti across the walls of obscenity and swastikas. There was no Christmas tree, no decorations to mark the winter solstice. The room wore the decay of decades. The mirror itself was in pieces, the frame crudely destroyed and covered in cobwebs and dust. It had been destroyed some time ago.

The young officer who had been holding the gun now stared at his empty hand is disbelief. The other policemen were pulling a handcuffed Giles up from the floor. “Don’t hurt him. Let him go,” said Buffy repeated quietly.

“But he just shot a man. We all saw him.”

Buffy pointed to the spot where Paul Popov’s body should have been lying. The sergeant was alone on his knees there. There were just dirty newspapers, and beer cans now.

“Well there’s no body here now,” she said and she was right. The house had given up its last occupant. All that remained now were the living.  


 


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

  
What was it with Watchers? They were a tricky breed. Annoying but knowledgeable, they got under your skin even Wesley had had his moments, Merrick was quite possibly the strangest man she ever knew but he gave her confidence and hope. Her first watcher had believed in her and gradually she started to believe in herself too. And Giles, oh god it was complicated with Giles. Could she trust him again? The local Slayer Zara had actually thought Buffy herself was a Watcher at first. Being a watcher meant taking a backseat: looking out for someone else for a change. Buffy had never been backseat material. She was a wheel spinning, horn blowing, gear crunching front seat gal, and to hell with who got left behind.  
  
Having actually witnessed a cold blooded killing, no police force in the world likes to be deprived of both the murder weapon and the victim. They had felt cheated and were deeply suspicious of Giles even though they no longer had any evidence. Despite Buffy’s reasoned arguments, they had resorted to the time honoured police practice of arresting everyone they found and taking them back to the station to await someone more senior. It took her much sweet talking to convince them that they were not a threat during the journey and did not require restraints. The police sergeant in particular seemed to have a personal grudge against Giles but reluctantly acquiesced. It was Christmas Day and something very strange had obviously just happened. At the police station therefore, they were locked in the relative comfort of an office rather than the cells. Their passports and possessions from the house had however been confiscated.  
  
Buffy knew they couldn’t hold them for ever and so was calm. Giles however was pacing. It was a slow pace and to the untrained eye it could pass for indolent stretching but after twenty minutes of watching him pass by the windows and oh so casually inspect the solid iron bars in the frame, Buffy knew the difference. Normally she’d be the one resenting being cooped up and Giles would be reassuring her, but neither of them seemed to be in the mood for conversation. He didn’t look at her the whole time after the police arrested them. He was back to being a stranger to her. A stranger sporting cuts and bruises and seriously in need of a shower and a change of clothes. He’d just shot someone and Buffy didn’t know if he’d known Paul was real or not. Worse she couldn’t ask him as the police were always about and neither of them trusted the office to be free of bugs. He’d taken lives before so maybe it was all the same to him? She kept remembering back to the snake in the sewer and band candy. She hadn’t liked the look in his eye when he held the gun to Ethan’s head. Teenage Giles looked for all the world like someone who could pull the trigger just for the excitement. He’d looked psychotic and dangerous that night and it was hard to reconcile that side of his nature with the steady, reliable Giles she thought she knew. Was that what had happened to Ben? Just how dangerous was this guy who was currently shambling around with his hands in his pockets refusing to look at her?  
  
Since Sunnydale Buffy had refused to discuss the Giles situation. She always knew she’d find him one day and that maybe she’d have to stop him in some way. Robin was the only one who dared to mention his name. Giles was going to be a problem he’d told her and problems never just go away. Part of her restlessness of the past six months was in waiting for Giles to reappear. She had sped around the world at the first sign of trouble looking to confront it head on, but at the back of her mind, she’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop. She’d said she didn’t want a 9 to 5 job in the new organisation because she wasn’t good behind a desk. Robin knew Watchers; he'd probably understood all along.  
  
“Sit down Giles, you’re making me nervous.”  
  
He sat to oblige her on a horsehair stuffed armchair, sprawling slightly, an outward picture of calm, and maybe a little boredom. Except that he really, really wasn’t. As a Slayer Buffy had hunter’s instincts. It was an unpleasant feral aspect of the job that she could smell weakness and fear. For all his outward calm Giles was terrified. She’d never seen him so scared. She wasn’t sure if the police knew, they were hunters in their own way too of course. She wished to god he’d look in her direction.  
  
The First had played on all their fears. Well, fears and her anger over Spike really. But there was something wrong at the root of the relationship with Giles to exploit. He’d told her that he was under some unspecified spell. Some bad magick that could even throw Willow around like a rag doll. God it was just so confusing. She should contact Robin, use her customary phone call and call in the troops. Make this someone else’s problem.  
  
The door unlocked sharply and a small grey haired man appeared. He wore a green felt hat and an overcoat which didn’t adequately cover a brightly patterned seasonal jumper. His jovial smile was equally dazzling. He was the local Inspector of Police and extremely pleased to make their acquaintance. They were not under arrest he assured them. It was a misunderstanding. His men were sometimes a little zealous in their duties. He offered them refreshments and the use of the telephone which they declined. He had brought in their papers and visas which immediately held Giles’ attention. “That house has been dreadful to my career,” the dapper Inspector explained, “so many tragedies at Christmas, but you have stopped it. You have survived. We can all go on with our lives.”  
  
He explained, with a macabre happiness, that on Christmas Eve 1912 Anton Popov had murdered his wife and her suspected lover. He had been arrested but had refused to give evidence at his trial. There being no doubt of his guilt, the State had had no choice but to execute him, especially as the affair had elicited the attention of the international press. Since then some sixteen couples had then been found dead at the property at Christmas. It was thought at first they were lovers engaged in macabre suicide pacts, attracted by the notoriety of the house, but it quickly became apparent that they were often strangers. There had been attempts to turn the house into a barracks for the Red Army and to fell the trees and cultivate the land but these had always failed. There was no records kept as to why but then, in the Soviet Union such failures were never documented. That Anton had been re-enacting the scene of his disgrace whenever possible had not occurred to them, though it made a gruesome sort of sense.  
  
Buffy thought it time to be going, she smiled her brightest at the Inspector. “We’d really just like to put this behind us now.”  
  
“Of course, of course.” The Inspector immediately returned her passport to her. “We have brought your rental car here Miss Summers and put your belongings inside. I have arranged accommodation at a hotel in Riga. It is quite a drive but the best I could do. My brother in law is manager there. I didn’t think you’d want to stay at the house.”  
  
“No,” she agreed, “And Dr Jones? I’d like Dr Jones to help me find the place. I’d feel safer to have a travelling companion.”  
  
“Really?” The Inspector looked through Giles’ passport as if he’d never seen English papers before. It was a fake of course. Buffy hoped it was a good one.  
  
“Do you have a reason to keep him? No-one actually died,” she reminded him sweetly.  
  
“No. Not really. There is much I’d like to ask Dr Jones, but nothing concrete,” he conceded.  
  
“Good. Then we can go now?” She was pressing her luck, but she gambled the man would want to return to his family on Christmas morning rather than try to figure out Giles. Hell, she’d spent enough years on that project with little enough to show for it.  
  
The Inspector went outside with them to her car. Two of the uniformed officers were guarding it as Giles dived to the trunk and retrieved his bag. He then started to check through the contents thoroughly; seemingly oblivious to the resentment he was stirring. The Inspector had still not handed over his passport.  
  
“Just one last question if you please Dr Jones.”  
  
Giles turned to the man cautiously.  
  
“Of the sixteen couples dead: some of the men were academics, two were even from the military. There was also a notorious gambler, another a thief. Some were men of adventure, some were respected men with families. Men with such backgrounds that I would have expected them to have put up a stronger resistance. I was wondering why you? Why were you not affected by this drama?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Giles answered carefully.  
  
“And why did you fire? My men reported they had just gained entry to the room when you raised the revolver and shot the man at point blank range. What made you do that?”  
  
Giles had gone quite pale. Buffy thought she knew the answer to that question, but it was hardly something they wanted to discuss. She was worried it might be the same answer as to the previous question. Maybe he hadn’t had a reason to shoot. She thought of Ripper and the candy night, but was that the magick or was that his true self? And then was he not affected by magick now? This spell could be anything. He could be anything. She felt a strong need to get Giles out of there.  
  
“He was protecting me,” she said defiantly, “Popov had made threats, Gil- Jones was acting to protect me. He saved my life Inspector. I wouldn’t want that overlooked.”  
  
The senior officer considered this for a while.  
  
“The perfect English gentleman? Always putting the lady first?”  
  
Giles muttered, “Something like that.”  
  
“There is something more to this but well, I shall not be ungracious. You have solved a great problem for me today. No one likes to clean up the deaths that house caused on Christmas day. I can make the arrangements with my brother-in-law for you both. I suggest you leave now.” He held out the passport but it was Buffy who darted swiftly to take it from him. She smiled sweetly at Giles and motioned for him to get in the car. He looked even more like a condemned man as he did so.  
  
...  
  
Buffy drove her hire car back towards Riga in silence. There was daylight but it was meagre and thin. Ostensibly Giles was navigating but he’d not offered any suggestions since leaving the police station so Buffy was largely trusting to instinct. They seemed to be on a major road to somewhere but that was all she knew for now.  
  
Since the talk with the Inspector Giles had withdrawn even further into himself. Buffy was relieved that he no longer seemed afraid but couldn’t figure out what was going through his head now. When he made no objection to her driving she seriously started to wonder how far their relationship had deteriorated. He hadn’t made a single joke. Maybe he had a death wish after all.  
  
She looked across the car to him and was startled to find him asleep. She skidded a little in the ditch in surprise, but quickly regained tarmac. That he was still asleep probably wasn’t a testament to her driving skills. She wondered how he could sleep after what had happened, but then they had both been through a lot over the years. She had not expected him to fire first and she honestly had no idea what had made him react. But if he hadn’t what would have happened?  
  
She looked across at Giles again. He was twitching his right hand slightly. Like a dog dreaming of rabbits she thought almost fondly. She drove on in silence. She’d tried the radio before but the music stations were light and fluffy and played only dated American jingle bells. Some of the tunes had seemed ancient even when she was growing up. Buffy had no place in her heart today for Andy Williams, she wasn’t in the mood. Giles shifted uncomfortably and nodded his head against the side window. The road was pretty straight and seemed very different in daylight. The skyline opened out to weak grey daylight and the temperature started to drop. There were very few cars, a few international trucks to whom Christmas Day meant another working opportunity. Giles muttered something and jerked slightly. The other cars that Buffy did see were laden with families. Children pulled playful faces at her as they crossed. She couldn’t help but smile back; they were just young and excited. She probably should have called Dawn from the station, but she hadn’t decided what she was going to say.  
  
Giles was suddenly violently shaking in a nightmare. “Giles, wake up,” she said in alarm. His arms started to claw at the seatbelt and the car door. “Giles!” she punched him, “stop it, wake up.”  
  
Possibly the physical contact did it as he snapped his eyes open, “Christ, stop the car, stop the car” he shouted. Buffy turned the car into a side road and pulled into a verge as best she could near a gate in the wall. Giles flipped open his seat belt and bolted out, leaving the car door open. He was on his knees by the time he’d reached the gate and crawled round the wall for dignity.  
  
Buffy calmly pulled his door closed and waited. Eventually, she killed the engine, retrieved a heavy coat from her bag to wear and went to sit on the stone wall. She looked back across the road and the horizon, giving him his privacy.  
  
There had been many times in Buffy’s life when she didn’t know what she was going to do next. Usually these were short-lived as another crisis rose up and she could grab weaponry to meet it head on. But now as she watched the sky she really didn’t have a plan at all. Robin was right that she didn’t even need to be here. Zara could have managed that demon sect without her. She’d bullied her way in as head slayer and made mistakes. Zara was lucky to be alive.  
  
Was she some sort of apocalypse junkie? Xander had joked ‘no-one ends the world on Buffy’s watch’ and she’d thought it a compliment at the time. She wasn’t so sure now. Being possessed and forced to play an alien role to herself was sobering. Kristina had taken risks with her marriage for the excitement. She had thought she was in control of her situation when she was clearly not.  
  
Eventually Giles reappeared, wiping his face.  
  
“You OK?” she asked.  
  
“Oh. Yes. Fine,” he said sheepishly and walked back through the gate to her side and leaned on the wall. He looked across away from her.  
  
“What’s wrong?” she asked.  
  
“I’m sorry I – I seem to have done it again haven’t I? Your fiancé. You thought you were engaged and I’ve taken that away.”  
  
Buffy frowned, that wasn’t the issue, “He wasn’t real.”  
  
“No but, I’m sorry.”  
  
“No he really wasn’t real. We weren’t engaged. He was lying. He just said that to protect my virtue or something.”  
  
Giles looked surprised, “From what?”  
  
“From you I suppose.”  
  
“Oh. It’s been a while since anyone felt they should do that.” Buffy smiled a little encouragement but despite having cleared that up, Giles still looked morose.  
  
“So Dr Jones,” she began only to be distracted by a sudden thought, “is it Indiana by the way?” The corners of his mouth smiled ever so slightly, giving her hope.  
  
“What was that just now in the car?”  
  
The smile quickly fled. “Just a bit of travel sickness. I’m fine now.”  
  
“And the terror at the police station?”  
  
He stood upright, “It’s been a long couple of days Buffy. Can we go to the hotel now please.” He started back to the car but Buffy flicked the key fob and the hire car obligingly crunched its door locks and flashed its lights. After a half a minute, he dropped his head wearily, turned and walked back to the wall she was sat on. He leaned his back against it this time and they both looked at the car for a bit.  
  
“Can we make a deal to stop lying to each other Giles?” He nodded very slightly. “So what was that in the car?” He was finding his shoes far more interesting then the open Latvian countryside or the slight chill that was threatening imminent snow in the air.  
  
“How long have you been getting these nightmares?” she persisted.  
  
“Don’t know. Not sure.” He could be amazingly hard work at times.  
  
“Since I died?”  
  
“Possibly. You were jumping off that bloody tower an awful lot at first. Though that could be, for want of a better word, natural. Now it’s just everything – Bringers, Jenny, - seems like every time I sleep. Sometimes when I’m awake even.”  
  
  
He’d been through a lot of the years. What was it that watchers felt when their slayer died? Zara had been so grateful there was someone there who understood. Buffy had felt that with her first Watcher more. Giles had his moments. In his way he’d made her feel safe. When he reversed the spells of Amy’s mom and saved her life: it was an eye opener. She didn’t know watchers did stuff like that. For about a day and a half he was a God, and then he annoyed her over training and things returned to normal. But what did she make him feel like?  
  
“Is this the spell the Coven found? Is this what it does?” Damn Kennedy and her zealotry in reading the Watcher Handbook. And damn the Watcher Handbook and damn The Council of Watchers.  
  
“Not found anyone alive to ask,” he mumbled.  
  
“And the fear at the police station?”  
  
“We could freeze to death out here,” he grumbled.  
  
“Depends on how stubborn you are,” Buffy sat quietly. She was a Slayer. A hunter, and as such she knew patience played a large part in what she did. She could get her answers here. She didn’t need to chase around the world.  
  
“There are no warrants for my arrest if that’s what you’re thinking. I don’t seem to cope well with being locked up and it’s just difficult being around people, being with you even. I’m sorry. I can’t explain it. People seem to get hurt when I’m around. And the nightmares aren’t exactly endearing. It’s better if I keep moving. Better for the people around me, and sometimes I can outrun it and rest.”  
  
“This really isn’t natural is it? Or Medical I mean. This is the spell. Can we find you a doctor or a mystic?”  
  
“No. Doctors, police, Slayers…They’d lock me away. It’s Eastern Europe Buffy. We can’t stay here. Please. I can’t cope with other people. I just need to be by myself. I will figure out what has happened to me, fix it and come back to you. I promise.”  
  
“I want you back in my life.”  
  
“I will be. I promise.”  
  
His hands had reached for comfort of tobacco again, but instead of a packet, he produced the gold cigarette case again. Giles looked at it with horror and disgust: Kristina’s thoughtless gift to her lover. “Sodding thing,” he said and made to throw over the wall.  
  
“No don’t,” Buffy stopped him and explained, “He wants you to keep it. I think he’s grateful. He got what he wanted didn’t he?”  
  
The sky had turned paler as they’d talked and the first snow flakes started to shroud them.  
  
“It wasn’t forgiveness,” Buffy reasoned, “and it certainly wasn’t Punishment because I’d say if he was executed by the State then that’s punishment enough for most people.”  
  
“He wanted to take it all back,” said Giles flatly. “He wanted not to have killed her. He wanted to not be a murderer.”  
  
“Big ask.”  
  
“Hmm,” he nodded, “He’d have given anything not to be a killer. To have not disappointed her like that.”  
  
“And for that,” said Buffy quietly, “he needed someone to shoot first. But the people he chose all ended up re-enacting exactly what happened. Why did you fire at him?”  
  
The snow was getting heavier and colder. Conversely the sky was lighter than it had been all morning.  
  
“I felt I had to. I felt I could. It might have been the spell, I don’t know.” He folded his arms and said bitterly, “Anyway, that’s what he’d been looking for all these years: a monster that could pull the trigger first.”  
  
She put a hand on his shoulder, “You’re not a monster and I don’t believe it was the spell. You did what you had to do to protect me. He would have killed us both. I don’t hate you Giles. You were wrong about that. Come on. Whatever this thing is that’s affecting you, we will figure it out together and fix it OK?”  
  
“Can’t.”  
  
“I’m not going anywhere Giles. You can’t do this on your own.”  
  
He was shaking again and it wasn’t the cold. From her seat on the wall she had a slight height advantage over him. Buffy moved her hand to the back of his neck. He was on fire and sweating freely. She leaned forward instinctively and kissed his forehead. “What am I going to do with you, my Giles?”  
  
The shaking grew more pronounced, so she pulled him into a tight hug. He fought to get free at first but she refused to let go. She was hanging on to her seat on the wall but if he wanted to roll on the frozen ground she could do that too. She was always going to win and he just needed to remember that and calm down. Eventually he stopped pulling away and put his arms around her and hugged her back just as tightly. She rocked him gently.  
  
A truck passed and hooted, a Scottish accent called out “get a room”, but then it was gone and they were alone again. The snow started to fall in bigger, slower patterns, twirling to make contact, turning everything the purest white, and she rocked him gently until the trembling finally stopped.  
  
“Merry Christmas Giles.”  
  
“Merry Christmas Buffy.”  
  
  
_End of Part One._  
  



End file.
